


The Consequences of Sound

by Acantha_Echo



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Deceit is a jerk in this, Deceit is manipulative, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, How Anxiety becomes Virgil, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mrs Fluffybottom, Patton is a good Dad, Roman plays into other people's hands too easily, SO DAMN MUCH, Sides as kids, Slow Burn, The Others - Freeform, Toxic Friendships, Virgil just loves his family, Virgil will do anything for those he loves, but he claims to have his reasons, but only for a while, it's never simple, so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 203,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acantha_Echo/pseuds/Acantha_Echo
Summary: Anxiety hurts Thomas. It's just what he does, what he has always done. It's not what he wants. He only wants to protect him but that is easier wished for than done.When the opportunity to prove himself opens up to him, he grabs it, for once not caring about the consequences.Things go downhill from there.The fall, rise, fall (and rise again) of Virgil.





	1. Someone else's days

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom but I love these guys so much and I couldn't resist dipping my toe into this world. 
> 
> Chapter title is from **Somedays** by _Regina Spektor_.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are muchly appreciated if you have the chance. Always looking to get better and know what you guys think. Hope you enjoy the ride.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a ridiculous idea of course, the thought that he might be able to do something good for once, that his powers could be used in such a way. But now that it has taken root in his mind, Anxiety finds he cannot shake it. It calls to him, a seductive hope that he clings to because he doesn’t want to be bad, he doesn’t want to hurt Thomas and maybe he can prove that he can do good. 
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Anxiety discovers a new way to help - or hinder - Thomas.

****

### **Someone else's days.**

**  
**

Here’s the thing. Anxiety loves Thomas. 

He always has. It's one of the many things that makes him different from the rest, different from Deceit and the others he spends his time with. Anxiety knows better than to actually voice that sentiment out loud of course, knows that the other parts of his Hosts personality he lives with hold very different views on the young boy. When he is with the others, he makes sure to nod and agree with all the disparaging comments, all the ways they try and tear Thomas down because he doesn't like listening to them. He even offers his own sneering comments at times, makes his Host panic over all manner of things, small and large.

Anxiety tells himself it is things he should be worried about anyway, but he knows in his heart he pushes the boy harder than he really needs to. Like the time he convinced Thomas he had forgotten his homework even after checking and seeing it in his backpack. Twice.

It feels wrong but he does it anyway because the others laugh when he does, sometimes they even clap him on the back or ruffle his hair and say that maybe, just maybe, he isn't a complete loser after all. 

The shouts are always too just a little too loud, the touches always a fraction too rough. 

Looking back, many years later, he will realise his denials only fed Deceit, gave him added power and control over him. That Deceit had probably known all along how he had really felt and was hoping to break him enough to make him change his mind. As though he could ever truly give up on Thomas, as if he could do anything but love him and want the best - safest - life for him. Looking back, he will never understand why he wanted this toxic friendship in the first place.

At the time though, he was simply a scared little side clinging to the only group that was willing to spend any time with him, who didn’t outright hate him. The main ones all hated him, all saw him as part of the negative emotions, the ones that just wanted to hurt and hurt Thomas.

He wasn't. 

He was. 

He hurt Thomas because he didn't want to be alone, he let his own fears override what some part of him knows to be wrong. No matter how many years pass and how much he changes, he doesn’t think he can ever forgive himself for that. 

Regardless, he knows he has no choice but to sink or swim with the others, that they tolerate him and it is better than what the main sides would do if he tried to hang around with them for any actual decent amount of time. Logic has barely said two words to him in all the time he has known him. Creativity and he fight more often than not, sometimes over silly things, but more often over larger, important, ‘that will get Thomas killed if we let him jump backwards off the couch’, things. 

Well there is Dad of course, but the moral side just loves everyone and everything, he freely admits as such. He loves Anxiety sure, but then again, Dad would probably love a potted plant if it was placed in his general area for long enough. He bonds with anything and everything, and loves them all with that same focused energy that he brings to everything. He probably loves the others, and that makes Anxiety shiver a little in worry. He doesn’t want Dad going anywhere near the others, he won’t let them touch Dad, he won’t let them hurt Mortality. No matter what, they are not touching him.

That doesn’t mean he _likes_ Anxiety, just that he loves him, as family was supposed to. Deceit always says he likes Anxiety, despite his many, many flaws.

Deceit lies... but not all the time. He admits Anxiety has flaws for a start, he knows only too well how weak the other side really is. He isn’t afraid to tell him when he does something wrong in a bid to make Anxiety better - or at least, that is what Anxiety tries to tell himself. 

His friendship with Deceit is enough for him. It has to be enough for him.

\--

Thomas is seven when he has his first migraine. 

It feels like an earthquake to Anxiety, a violent upheaval of everything around him, the tremors making him clutch desperately at the wall to support himself until it passes. His heart is racing frantically as he tries to work out what is going on. This is new and different.

Anxiety does not like new and different. 

The pain comes again. He’s a little more prepared for it this time, Anxiety closing his eyes as it reaches him and breathing deeply. He tries to reach out as he does, wanting to know where it is coming from, what it actually is. It doesn’t take much to trace the pain back to its source. Not to a side, not directly, and that was a surprise. Its something much deeper and more basic than a side, and it is coming right from Thomas. 

Thomas is in so much pain. From something that reminds him of a headache but is far, far worse. A migraine apparently. This. This is bad. This is so bad. What if Thomas still has the migraine tomorrow? What if he can’t go to school and he misses some important lesson because of it? Okay, they are only seven but there still might be something important or awesome and he is missing out on it because of this migraine. 

The pain increases and Anxiety freezes, a cold and horrible thought occurring to him. Is he making this worse? He's thinking, he's over thinking and that's making Thomas panic and the panic is making the pain worse which just makes it more likely that they will miss school tomorrow and then all their friends will hate them an-

He needs to stop thinking. Easier said than done of course, but he has to stop this spiral because the pain is bad, bad, badbadbadadba-

Anxiety does something he has never done before. He puts some mental presence between himself and his host, he lets his influence fade a little. At once, he can feel the difference, the way the pain drops back to how it was before he started thinking.

It's still terrible, but at least he is no longer making everything worse. He doesn't know how long he can keep this up without actually leaving but at least it's helping now and he knows this works. That he can, if he ever has to, free Thomas from his influence. Now he just needs to check on everyone else, make sure they are ok.

Briefly, he considers checking on the mains. No, no, Dad will already be doing that and they wouldn't want Anxiety underfoot, just getting in the way. That means, checking on the others. It is his job to protect, that was his purpose and that means protecting the others. Even if sometimes he wonders if he actually likes the others.

Quietly, he moves down the hall and takes a few steps out into the common room where the others like to spend their time. It’s filled with dark colours and brooding shadows and it normally only serves to make him more uncomfortable in turn. He doesn’t like spending time here but he knows its where he will find his best friend, where he will find Deceit, the snake skinned boy flicking through some comic book.

Idly, he wonders if this time, Deceit will let him read this one when he's done. He does sometimes. Not often, because Anxiety might lose or damage it, but sometimes, when he is in a good mood he might. No. Wait. This isn't the time to be thinking about comic books.

Anxious brown eyes watch his friend as another bout of pain from their Host ripples across the area.

Deceit doesn't so much as flinch, casually turning another page. It's not that the lying side is being strong or, well, lying. 

He can't... he can't feel it. Not as pain. 

None of the others react the way Anxiety feels they should as yet another shock rumbles through the area. One or two giggle, a sly glance to each other as they mutter about the shakes, the pain that their host must be feeling and how it was about time the little brat got a little of what he deserves.

They think it's a joke, he notes with dawning horror, a sick sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. They think its _funny_ that Thomas is in real pain. 

He really thinks that he might not like the others after all.

Deceit looks up, finally noticing Anxiety standing just inside the doorframe. Yellow eye fixes on the other side, an intent, unblinking stare. He hates it when Deceit looks at him like that, it makes him think that all his thoughts are on display, that he is picking him apart and seeing every unworthy moment. He hunches further into the black hoodie, trying to sink into the slightly too large garment as though he could just slink out of sight and thus, out of mind. 

If only things could be that easy. Deceit frowns, still staring even as yet another earthquake shifts around them and he can't take it anymore.

Anxiety mumbles some feeble excuse he can't even remember and flees to his room. 

His head is spinning as he collapses on the neatly made bed, an oasis of calm in the mess that is the rest of his room. They laughed, they laughed, they laughed! Yes, they had enjoyed causing him to panic, he knows this. He has even helped in the past, as shameful as that feels, because that's part of why he is here. To make Thomas more aware and alert. Sometimes, sure, he’s a little... over enthusiastic, the others egging him on, but he’s never tried to cause proper pain. 

This is different. 

He doesn't understand why they hate Thomas so much, he doesn't get how they look at him and want to do anything else but protect him. Maybe the others aren't the best to hang around with after all. That's a worry for another time, now though, now he has to work out if there is anything he can do. He protects, that's his job and a migraine isn't the same as making sure he doesn’t wander off down a supermarket aisle without an adult or stopping him from accepting candy from that nice looking lady because she was still a stranger, so what if they were at a friend's birthday party, Thomas didn't know her and that meant she was a stranger.

Anxiety lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck as he awkwardly considers his options, as limited as they are. 

He could ignore the pain - the choice is discarded almost as soon as he considers it, and Anxiety knows he can’t do that. 

He could help. Somehow. He wants that, he really, really wants to do that. But how?

He’s managed to go far enough to cause Thomas physical pain before, he’s pushed his own essence into the boy and caused headaches to bloom. Never as bad as this one but he's made them. If he can make them, does that mean he can... un-make them? No, that isn't a word. Logic would know the right word for his thoughts, Logic would be able to explain it all. The smart side might not talk directly to him, but if gently nudged it is easy enough to get him to give a lecture on all manner of topics.

Anxiety would never admit it, but he loves it when Logic starts one of his rants. They are full of passion and energy, full of the emotion he otherwise scorns to admit he has. It is fascinating to listen to, and more that once has has crept into the room and sat with rapt attention until someone had noticed him and he had run back to the others.

It doesn't help him in the here and now. It doesn't help solve the problem and Logic would know if what he was thinking was even possible. Logic isn't here. Logic wouldn't be interested in trying to help him anyway. Thomas he would try and help of course, but he wouldn't believe it if Anxiety asked for help.

Perhaps he can approach the problem like Logic, try and think it through. He isn't smart but he has listened to the other side a lot, and he knows the process he is supposed to take if nothing else.

Right. What does he know? He knows he can cause pain. He knows he can make a migraine worse. He knows he is a terrible, terrible, _so bad, not good, evil, rotten_ , excuse of a side. 

He knows... wait, wait, he knows he can limit his influence and thus limit what Thomas feels from him which is more control than Anxiety realised he had. So what logical conclusions can he draw from this?

Aside from how terrible he really is.

If he can push a headache onto his host... then maybe... maybe he can pull. If he can find the pain, he could try and pull it. Trap it in a small space, in his space. If he can contain it, he could try and mask it for Thomas, even if that means he runs the risk of suffering from the pain instead. Anxiety will take the pain over Thomas feeling it. If he can get the pain in his space then it stands to reason he can lessen the effects of himself and thus help his Host.

It’s a ridiculous idea of course, the thought that he might be able to do something good for once, that his powers could be used in such a way. But now that it has taken root in his mind, Anxiety finds he cannot shake it. It calls to him, a seductive hope that he clings to because he doesn’t want to be bad, he doesn’t want to hurt Thomas and maybe he can prove that he can do good. He curls into a tighter ball, playing with the strings of his hoodie as he allows himself a moment of fantasizing what that would be like if Thomas liked him, if Thomas listened to him. 

Roughly, he gives himself a mental shake. Now is not the time to be dreaming of the impossible, no matter how sweetly it calls to him. It doesn’t matter, there is no way Thomas would ever be willing to listen to him like that, and he doesn’t need his Host to like him. He just has to let Anxiety protect him.

“Now why did you run away like that Anxiety?” Deceit’s hiss of a voice sounds suddenly in his room, the nervous trait jumping a little as quite suddenly the other side is in his room, crossing the space between door and bed. He comes close to stand by the bed, towering over Anxiety and he isn’t sure why he wants to move away. They are friends, after all. 

Deceit didn’t knock when he entered. Why would he?

_Best friends don't need to knock Anxiety, everybody knows that._

He hadn't known that. Another mark on how bad a friend he really was tally.

Anxiety gives a helpless shrug, the mess of thoughts in his mind all surging and churning together. It makes his stomach hurt a little, as he sits here, consumed by his own misery and fear and the almost paralyzing knowledge that every moment that passes, is one where Thomas is hurting and he isn’t helping. 

Deceit wears a yellow superhero cape, something he hadn’t been sporting before in the common room. Inspired by the book he had been reading no doubt. It makes him look like the kind of hero Anxiety wishes he could be, no matter how many times he tells himself of his actual place in the world. The dark clothed side is the sidekick, and he is lucky to be even that. He doesn't mind being the sidekick all the time, but he wishes sometimes that he could do more to help. He is going to help now, he has to.

“What are you thinking in that clever little head of yours? Use your words.”

Anxiety hesitates, fingers twisting nervously together, the strings of his hoodie abandoned, as he stares at down at his lap. Deceit is smart, nearly as smart as Logic, he might be able to help. He’s almost always willing to listen too and sometimes Anxiety has even convinced him to change his mind. Sometimes it is the two of them against the others and those are his favourite times, because not even the others can stand against them when Deceit and Anxiety work together. They are an unstoppable team. He breathes deeply, trying to settle his racing mind, to sort out his thoughts just as Deceit had said. Anxiety just needs to work out where to begin. 

“I... I was thinking... I could try and help Thomas. Maybe I can take some of the headache away. I make them so... maybe, I could help,” he mumbles after a pause. Is it his imagination or does the temperature in his room drop several degrees as he speaks? He shivers a little, risking a glance up from his hands to try and gauge his friend’s reaction. From the look of complete disgust on his features, it isn’t going to be a good one. 

“Oh please. We all know how helpful you are Anxiety. I’m sure you will be able to save him like you always do.” The scorn is palatable in the air around him, almost a physical thing that Anxiety thinks he could reach out and touch. 

Of course.

Of course it was a stupid idea. Of course he couldn't help. He was Anxiety. He didn’t help. It was ridiculous to even think otherwise. 

“No more lovely and sensible thoughts about helping Thomas, okay?” Deceit leans forward as he speaks, crowding into Anxiety’s personal space even further. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a prickling sensation that runs across his body. He just wants to run but he’s already in his room and there is nowhere else he can run to where he will be safe, no hole small and dark enough for him to hide in, where he will be safe from all the dangers, real and imaginary. 

There is Dad and his hugs. They are always safe while they last, even if he's only felt them once before. But then again, why would he need to run? This is his best friend after all. He knows Deceit is looking out for him, knows that he isn’t being mean for the sake of being mean. He might not love Thomas in the same way Anxiety does, but he isn’t like the others, he doesn’t hate him. He just gets frustrated at the young boy sometimes and Anxiety can understand that. He knows what it's like to scream himself hoarse trying to make himself heard because it's dangerous, only to have Creativity take over and convince Thomas that camping alone at night without telling anyone is a great adventure and nothing could possibly go wrong!

It had gone wrong. At least Deceit had jumped in then, and made sure Thomas didn’t get into too much trouble when he got home. Really, Anxiety thinks he should have been grounded for longer, they should have been punished so that Thomas would know better next time. 

“I said, no more thinking like that, okay?” Deceit presses again, dragging Anxiety’s thoughts back to the here and now. 

“Okay,” Anxiety whispers, shoulders slumping in defeat. He lowers his head to stare at the black blanket on his bed, picking randomly at the fluff there just for something, anything to do. Deceit huffs in annoyance after a couple of moments when it becomes apparent that Anxiety isn't going to say anything else.

He hears rather than sees Deceit leave, door slamming shut behind him, leaving Anxiety alone with all his misery ridden thoughts.

“Okay,” he whispers again, to the now silent room. 

\--

It’s not okay.

Thomas is _hurting_. 

Maybe Deceit is right, maybe he can’t help. 

But he’s darn well going to try anyway.

Which means he needs to pay Creativity a visit.


	2. Foresee obstacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing in front of Creativity’s closed door, what little courage he has fails him. The other side is just going to laugh at him if he explains his pathetic plan and what he wants.
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Anxiety seeks out Creativity in order to gain some strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best, thank you so much for all the lovely words and kudos, they really warmed my heart. Chapter title comes from **Obstacles** by _Syd Matters_. So glad you are enjoying it so far, and without further ado, here is part two.

****

### **Foresee obstacles.**

**  
**

There are many routes around Thomas’ mind, hidden passages that link the subconscious, the memory archives, the areas where the main sides live and the areas where the other sides lurk. Anxiety knows most of them, has learnt them all, mapped them mentally and practiced until he could walk around with his eyes closed and still get to where he needed to go.

He’s never understood why he is the only one who seems to be able to move freely through each part of the mind. Deceit can come upstairs, if he really wanted to, but he doesn't. Or so he says anyway.

The main aspects have never shown any interest in trying to head down to where the others reside, too wrapped up in their own lives to even care about the rest, to care about Anxiety. 

And well, he can’t say he blames them, not really. He wouldn’t want to spend time with himself either. 

Deceit says the ability to move from one to the other is just further proof of how he doesn’t fit in. How he needs to make the choice one way or the other - he should accept what he is and stop acting like he is better than his actual friends. He should stay away from the main sides and start acting like a big boy who didn’t just follow after the others in a desperate attempt to be liked. It is pathetic, and Anxiety knows it. Deceit is right. He should stop dancing between both groups and commit to one or the other. He doesn't belong with the main sides, no matter how much Anxiety secretly wishes he did. And while he doesn't get on much better with the others - not counting Deceit of course - they would be easier to live with day to day, if he just cuts off all contact with the others.

But he doesn't like the idea of what would happen if he stopped spending time with the main sides. No matter how small and snatched the moments actually are, he treasures them. It would mean no more listening to Logic as he sprouted forth on the stories of the stars or the the way ecosystems work. He learns so much from those talks, and he wishes he could express how much they mean to him. Anxiety knows if he tries though, he would just get jumbled up, tongue tied and just make a mess of things. No doubt Logic would think he was just making fun of him. 

It would mean no more friendly - and perhaps blessedly, not so friendly - fights with Creativity and as much as it pains Anxiety to admit it, he actually enjoys the fights they get into sometimes. When Creativity isn't pushing for completely ridiculous, out of the world things, his ideas can be not so bad. The fanciful side is still a clueless moron about a lot of things - most things - but he means well and Anxiety appreciates that if nothing else.

Worst of all, that would mean never seeing Dad properly again. What was that bad word Thomas had heard the other day? His mother had gasped and guided Thomas away from the adult who had said it, but Anxiety had heard it, and worried that they were going to get in trouble for knowing it. He had worried all day about knowing it. What _was_ it again? F... f... fu... 

Fudge that.

He's not giving up his Dad, not even for his best - only? - friend. _Some friend you are_ , his mind hisses, gleefully picking at his already tattered self worth. _He tries so hard to be your friend, he forgives you time after time no matter how much you hurt him by hanging out with the mains who don't even want you around in the first place and you still put your selfish needs first._

He isn't putting his selfish needs first. If he was, he would have ignored Thomas and his pain and instead gone to Dad in the hope of getting a hug. Anxiety has had one hug from the moral side before. Well, he has experienced multiple _attempts_ at a hug before, more than even he could keep count of. Normally Anxiety was pretty good at avoiding them, slipping out of the attempts before Dad can finish the hug or vanishing from sight before he can ask. Recently, Dad has gotten a lot better with asking before just going in for the hug. Anxiety appreciates its, it makes him feel a lot calmer knowing he isn't going to get jumped by a friendly side wanting physical contact. It also makes it so much easier to avoid.

That one time though. That one time he had been too tired, too hurting. Too weak. He hadn't been able to muster the strength to push him away as he knew he should. He had let the caring side give the hug he had been threatening, felt arms wrapped around him and offered an awkward hug back. 

It had been the most wonderful experience of his short life. There had been such safety in that moment, such warmth and dare he say it, love. For those few seconds, he had actually believed he might be worth something, that someone actually wanted him beyond the responsibility of family bonds and putting up with him to make their life easier. It makes him think he is better than he is and as such, it is something to be feared. 

Because it is wrong, it is a lie. It has to be a lie, how could someone like him, ever hope to be better?

So as much as he wants a Dad hug right now, he can’t allow himself to get sidetracked. The moral side would take one look at him and see the pain he was in, magnified by the pain Thomas was in. He would try and distract him from the task at hand with milk and cookies, possibly some Disney and if that still didn’t work - and it wouldn’t, the pain from Thomas would keep him on edge, as well as the anticipation, the hope - then he would maybe, just maybe, offer a hug.

Anxiety doesn’t think he is strong enough to resist that temptation if it was laid out in front of him. He is weak and pathetic and aweful, craving reassurance that only Dad can provide. It would be easy to forget about Thomas in that moment, and just lose himself in sheer comfort. It would be glorious but no matter how badly he yearns for a repeat of that one wonderful moment, he has to put Thomas first. He wasn't selfish, he was going to be better than that.

Reluctantly then, he creeps past Dad’s door, holding his breath when he hears movement inside the room, a slight shuffle as Morality moves around. He freezes completely in place as the sound grows louder, the parental side heading towards the door and no, no, no, no, had he heard him? Was he coming to investigate the noise, and he would find Anxiety cowering in the corridor like some pathetic intruder. He wouldn't laugh or be cruel, he is too kind for that. Instead he would no doubt very kindly ask if Anxiety could not be such a freak and let them rest in peace.

The door doesn’t open though, the sound retreating once more and perhaps Mortality had just been getting something near his door. He waits a little longer, just in case, still frozen in place before Anxiety lets out the breath he has been holding and carries on further down the hallway, past Logic’s room, thankfully dark and quiet until he reaches his destination.

Standing in front of Creativity’s closed door, what little courage he has fails him. The other side is just going to laugh at him if he explains his pathetic plan and what he wants. The other side might just laugh at him anyway, before he even gets two words out. Anxiety chews on his bottom lip for a long moment, thoughts warring frantically with himself. He's never had a conversation like this before with Creativity, when he needs something and is begging rather than pleading. He is not looking forward to it. Creativity is probably just going to say no and slam the door in his face anyway.

Although... 

He could just take it. Creativity is so easily distracted after all, and it wouldn't take much to guide him away from his room for a little while. A few moments is all it will take to sink into the room and take what he needed. By the time Creativity realises what has happened and hunted him down, he should have been able to help (or fail to help) Thomas. He wouldn't need it anymore, no matter how much he might want it.

He has learnt long ago to put a line between want and need, a barrier he ruthlessly maintains. He cannot allow himself to soften on that issue, because there is so much that he wants and at the same time knows he will never have. It's pointless to want impossible things, so he focuses all his attention on the smaller, more mundane things he can have. Stuff he needs to keep going and doing his job, over extra stuff he might want. He has to pick his battles carefully after all.

Right now, he needs the object in Creativity’s room. Needs it.

Anxiety can almost hear Deceit in his mind, urging him to take the short cut. If he is so determined to help Thomas, then he can hardly afford to waste time pandering to the inflated ego that is the creative side.

But Dad would like it if he asked. If he didn’t, he knows Creativity would just go running to the moral facet and then he would give Anxiety that sad look that cut deeper than any nasty insult the Prince can throw at him. It would hurt too much and he is a coward at heart - he doesn't want to fail Dad, he doesn't want to feel that type of hurt. Which means he needs to swallow down his nerves and the extremely tattered shards of what might once have been his pride and just ask. Plead. Beg. Whatever it takes.

He lifts a hand to play with the bangs falling over his eyes, making sure they cover them properly before knocking hard on the door, a rapid little motion. He can't give himself chance to talk himself out of this any longer, to let the doubts overwhelm him. The long sleeves of his hoodie are pulled up and over his hands, letting them bunch up. Thick fabric is soothing against his fingers and he focuses on the tactile sensations, on the tiny things.

It takes everything in him not to pull his hood up just to protect himself but he worries that Creativity will take it the wrong way if he does that. He might think that Anxiety is here to fight or something equally ridiculous.

Isn't that just the whole problem with Anxiety? He worries. Endlessly.

The door swings open but somewhere along the way, Anxiety has dropped his gaze to stare at the floor instead, staring darkly at the carpet as though it has personally insulted him. Even with the sight of boots on the carpet, he finds he cannot break his staring contest and oh, he wishes the ground would just swallow him whole. 

_Can't even knock on a door and wait for an answer properly, you are so cringe worthy._

A deliberate cough drags Anxiety’s attention back to the here and now, and he finally looks up. Mouth opens to ask the question but his brain is spinning wildly in a complete different direction, struggling with the new and unexpected sight in front of him. Anxiety blinks a couple of times as he stares at the other side in a mixture of awe and straight up disbelief.

Creativity is wearing a new outfit. _Again_. All the others stick to one or two looks, finding outfits they like that somehow seem to sum up everything about them. 

Logic sticks to his ties. Of course he does. He might still be a child - a fact which he knows annoys Logic to no end, and he is so impatient for Thomas to grow up and embrace the more serious aspects of the world. He also knows Logic likes more childish things that he is willing to admit, but Anxiety isn't going to fight that battle. If the serious side wanted to try and ignore the more playful parts of him, then who was he to call him out on it? It's not like they are friends. It's not like he cares.

Mortality has a few more choices in his clothing, a lot of cat themed shirts and even a onesie. And cardigans. Man, does he have a lot of cardigans, almost always tied around his shoulders.

Even the others get in on it, little variations on their themes.

Deceit had gotten a cape just a hour or so ago, but it's the first change, the first splash of colour he has seen his friend pick.

And then there is Anxiety.

Who pretty much lives in his large black hoodie. Every now and then, when it is starting to feel a little too form fitting, he will increase the size of it, so that it always remains baggy, something that can swamp him and best of all, he can hide in when the mood strikes him. 

He has one with a tiny bit of purple at the cuffs and hood, his own little rebellion against the perfect black, but that never comes out of his closet. He saves it for the worst days and even then he will climb into the wardrobe to wear it, just to make sure nobody else sees it. He is happy sticking with what he knows and what makes him comfortable.

Although he has been considering eye shadow lately, when he's a little older and has managed to talk himself into it. Right now, he knows he would just look silly. But maybe when they are teenagers. He hopes Thomas goes through a make up phase even as he dreads the idea of Thomas doing just that. He would stand out and that would be bad.

So they all stick to what they know, they change a little in the day to day but nothing grand, nothing completely new. They are predictable and so safe.

But not Creativity. Never Creativity. It's in the name he knows, but it is bewildering at times, how completely different he can look from one moment to the next. It isn't predictable or safe and Anxiety hates it. Not him of course, just so much of what he represents.

Today he is dressed in a crisp white tunic, so bright it might burn his eyes. A slash of sickening blood red cuts across his chest and Anxiety has a moment of panic, of terror, Creativity is hurt, he's hurt, he's hurt, _heishurthurthur-_

Of course he isn't hurt. After a few moments of panic, Anxiety can focus clearly and see that the blood is actually a fabric sash, a rich splash of colour to make it look like some official outfit. He looks like something out of a Disney movie and he guesses he should say so.

“You look like some wannabe Prince dude...” Anxiety mutters at last, at a loss of what else to say. He's not sure why he is being shown this but hey, it's better than the two weeks Creativity spent dressed as a barbarian. There was not enough eye bleach in the world to rid him of the memories of that sight.

“Ugh, rude much? Wannabe nothing, Anxiety, this is a class act,” Creativity replies with an overly dramatic roll of his eyes. Everything has to be dramatic with him. “So what do you think?”

He is asking Anxiety? Why does he care? Why does he think the anxious side will be able to give him an answer? He knows nothing of this kind of thing. Is this a trap? Anxiety finds himself considering the question seriously anyway, even though this isn't his department.

“I dunno... what do Dad and Logic think?” Best to play it safe, as always.

“I haven't shown them yet, I was going to, but then you came to my door and ruined the surprise so you got to see my newest creation first. By total accident of course, but whatever.” Creativity lifts a hand as he speaks, giving a little wave of dismissal as though flicking aside the thought, not wanting either of them to dwell on it. 

Anxiety blinks rapidly at that.

Creativity is... lying. He is good at spotting lies. He has grown up with the liar after all and while Deceit still manages to deceive him most of the time, he knows the rest and he knows their tells. He knows that the fanciful side is currently obscuring the truth like never before. He lifts his hand to his mouth, nervously biting at the cuff of his hoodie as he considers how to handle this lie. Creativity is not telling the truth and that confuses him more than it should. He no doubt has his reasons for bending the truth in the way he has but Anxiety cannot imagine what any of them could be. All he knows for sure, is that a lie has been spoken and thankfully - thankfully? Why is he relieved about this? - Deceit has not been summoned as a physical presence. 

Plus, there had been those few seconds when Anxiety had been staring down at the floor. It would have been simplicity itself for Creativity to change in those moments if he really didn't want him to see it first.

“Its okay, I guess.” Words are mumbled around the cuff of his hoodie and he is too cowardly to challenge Creativity on the lie ringing around the space between them. Anxiety knows he will brood on it later however, once everything has been said and done. He will pick apart the memory of this moment and run it through his fingers over and over until it is warped beyond all recognition in a bid to try and understand. He knows he will fail. He is always failing. 

“You guess?” Creativity manages to sound so offended, as if Anxiety had taken a torch to everything he loved and burnt it to a cinder. “You guess!”

“It looks good okay? Its very... you.” It is actually. Dramatic, loud, some might say obnoxious and yet carefree, romantic. Fanciful. It’s perfect really.  
Still, it’s not like it matters what Anxiety thinks anyway, he knows Creativity just seeks validation wherever he does, from whomever he can. He needs the reassurance almost as much as Anxiety thinks he might. The difference is, Creativity gets what he needs, as well as what as what he wants. For whatever reason he wanted Anxiety to be the first to see this, wanted his approval for his newest outfit.

It's bewildering and makes no sense, Creativity’s actions warring with what he knows to be the painful truth of his reality. Because he knows that it’s not like it matters what Anxiety thinks. 

He _wants_ to matter, but he knows that he doesn't _need_ to matter. 

He might not know it yet either, but the Prince outfit is here to stay - bar a couple of phases where Creativity will be a wizard, a dragon tamer and various anime characters. They will always be fleeting outfits however and he will always return to the Prince persona. 

“Anyway,” Creativity says after the pause stretches on just a little too long, twisting into some awkward, uncomfortable thing. “What did you want anyway? Or were you just dazzled by the thought of seeing me again? I can understand that of course, it must be painful when you can’t bask in my wonder.”

Ah. Yes. The whole point he had come here and how could he have let himself be distracted? Anxiety gives a little shiver, guilt surging up in him at knowing he has already managed to fail Thomas. It’s all the worse this time because he had set out with such good intentions, such determination to help and instead had fallen at the first hurdle. He was wasting precious time, time he didn’t have. As if summoned by his thoughts, a small quake rumbles down the hallway and Thomas is still hurting. Suffering while Anxiety flatters Creativity and bows to his ego.

“Hello? Earth to Anxiety? You come knocking for a reason Unhappy Meal?” 

For a few long seconds, he actually considers asking Creativity to come with him, to go on a quest together and try and slay the beast. He considers telling him all the nasty things he overheard the others saying about Thomas, about how he just wants to _help_ and how he has an idea and a sort of plan to do just that but he can’t go alone. 

He rejects the idea. Creativity can’t know what he is planning. Nobody can know. He knows he isn’t a useful side, not really, and Deceit has already pointed that out to him. Anxiety can’t handle Creativity ripping down what little self confidence he has managed to shore back up, to pointing out with hateful logic just how terrible he is. Anxiety breathes out, forcing his hand away from his mouth, lips twisting into a grimace for a moment as he struggles to find the words. 

“Can... can I borrow Mrs Fluffybottom? Just for tonight, please Creativity.”

Another wave of pain rolls across the mindscape, Anxiety biting down on the whimper that wants to escape his mouth as best he can. This is torture. Can't Creativity feel this? Their Host is in pain and it feels as though he is the only one that cares. No, no that's not fair, he knows Creativity cares, he can see the way eyebrows pinch together at the pain, the way he seems to stare off into the distance, a few moments passing before he even seems to register what Anxiety has asked. The newly regal looking side presses his lips together tightly as he thinks. 

“She's my rabbit. Mine,” he replies at last and Anxiety knows that, it's why he asked. He was being good and Dad was always telling Thomas to share his toys, it is the same situation. “Why can't you just make yourself your own toy?”

That stings because Creativity knows - he has to know right? - that Anxiety can't do that. Anything he attempts to make will be as monstrous as he is. 

Plus, it wouldn't be Mrs Fluffybottom and Anxiety loves that rabbit to pieces. Creativity has let him play with it before, but he has never asked for it, never admitted how much he enjoys it, loves it and how much he treasures the time with the toy. He wouldn’t keep Mrs Fluffybottom either, as much as he might long to have it in his room every day. She wouldn’t be safe there, because he wouldn’t be able to protect her all the time from the others, not when he is trying to do every other part of his job, when there is only one of him and so many of them. Better to see her now and then and know she is safe in Creativity’s realm than risk getting her damaged or worse. 

“Please,” Anxiety begs again and he should have just stolen Mrs Fluffybottom, at least he would have had the rabbit for when he needed her and then dealt with a sad Dad afterwards. 

Yet another quake passes them, Anxiety’s hands curling into tighter little balls inside the sleeves of his hoodie, and he can feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands, leaving little half moon impressions scattered across his skin. Creativity flinches as well and he can't help the sick satisfaction that passes through him knowing that at least he isn't the only one hurting. It's a horrible, disgusting thought, but he is still glad he is not alone in this pain.

“Next time you have an idea, I won't fight you on it, I _promise_.”

It's a terrifying promise to make but then he is desperate. He needs to help Thomas, he has to try but the thought of going somewhere new, alone, is so overwhelming and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot change what he is. Anxiety knows his own weaknesses and so tries to adjust accordingly. Just for once, he will worry about the future when it happens and not before.

Who is he kidding? He is going to be on edge and traumatized by all the infinite possibilities of what Creativity could use this promise for. It will keep him awake and stressed until whatever happens, happens. The only good thing about it is he knows he won’t be kept in suspense for long, that sooner rather than later, Creativity will have an idea. It will be terrifying and stupid and dangerous and he will have to clamp down on every urge he has to argue, but he has promised and so he will keep it. No matter how scared it makes him feel. So long as it won’t outright kill Thomas of course, and Creativity has to know that is the exception without him explaining it surely. 

He needs the stuffed rabbit, he needs to borrow Creativity’s strength, needs the comfort that only a cuddly toy can provide. He needs a sidekick of his own and who better than Mrs Fluffybottom?

“How do I know you will really let me? You’ll probably just take her and ruin her and then still disagree with my glorious idea.” 

Anxiety supposes it is a fair question. He's teamed up with Deceit so many times in the past, they have worked together to convince Thomas that he should listen to them over the rest because it is safer and really, they just want to keep him safe. He doesn't really like lying though, not unless they absolutely have to. And never after a promise. A promise isn’t something to be made lightly. 

How can he prove that to Creativity though? 

“I will pinkie promise,” he tells him, tilting his chin up in a pose of bravery he has seen the other side practise in the mirror. After a pause, he thrusts his hand out towards him, pinkie extended. There is no vow more sacred than a pinkie promise and surely even Creativity will have to believe him now.

The Prince stares at him for so long that Anxiety starts to fidget. Should he pull his hand back? Should he say something else? Should he debase himself further if that's what it takes? 

A smile suddenly breaks across Creativity’s face, something warm and genuine. It feels like the sun is suddenly shining on him, and it takes everything in him not to gasp in surprise - or purr in contentment and stretch out to enjoy every last ray. It's a fleeting feeling he knows, just as Anxiety knows he will feel all the colder once it passes but he cannot help but enjoy it while it lasts. 

“Pinkie promise,” Creativity agrees, matching Anxiety’s pose and wrapping his little finger around Anxiety’s own. Hands move up and down, and just like that, the pact is made. His stomach does a little loop the loop at the thought of it, somewhere between thrilled and sickened. There is no time to think about it though, no chance to go back on the deal even if he wanted to, as Creativity turns and disappears back into his room, reappearing a few moments later with the treasured toy in his hands.

“A Prince must do all he can to keep his subjects content as well as safe after all,” Creativity announces, handing over the large rabbit. 

“”R-really?” Anxiety stutters, clutching the stuffed rabbit tight as though afraid the prince would suddenly laugh and change his mind. He doesn't even care that Creativity called him his ‘subject’. Or that he implied Anxiety was someone that needed to be kept safe. He did the protecting around here. That was his job, his reason, his excuse. He frowns slightly, staring down at the top of the rabbits head without actually seeing it. 

“Hey, Anxiety?” Creativity sounds suddenly serious and Anxiety - Anxiety isn’t sure what to make of a Creativity that is serious. Brown eyes lift slowly from the toy he is hugging fiercely to meet the worried gaze of the other side. That is something else he doesn’t know how to handle, awkwardly stepping from one foot to another, feeling himself shrink a little under the suddenly intent gaze of the other. He seems worried and... dare Anxiety think it? Sympathetic towards him? 

“Thomas is going to be okay you know? Logic says this will pass, we just have to wait.”

All Anxiety can do is dumbly nod, surprised that Creativity has worked out why he is here. In a way at least. The fanciful side is actually right for once as well. Thomas is going to be fine, the dream team of Anxiety and Mrs Fluffybottom will see to that.

“Thanks Princey. I gotta... I gotta...” Anxiety lifts a hand to thumb back down the corridor, unable to put into words what he has planned next. 

“Princey eh? Here’s hoping that nickname doesn’t stick.” Creativity gives a laugh as he speaks, and just like that, the serious moment has passed. Another lie, this one easier to deduce, he can tell Creativity secretly loves the nickname, the acknowledgement of being a prince. 

“Run off home then Anxiety, just remember to give her back in the morning. Like you promised.”

“I will,” Anxiety replied, clinging to the toy like the lifeline it was to him as he turns and starts walking down the corridor. 

It was time to try and be a hero for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Fluffybottom is from an old vine, and while it might not technically be Sander side canon, the idea of the two of them fighting over a toy rabbit was just too cute not to use. Comments and Kudos are muchly appreciated if you have the chance.


	3. Change the way you lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to go home. Tears fill his eyes for a moment, breath catching in his throat and Anxiety just wants to go home. This is too scary, too new and unexpected and he was so, so, so _stupid_ to think he can do this, so stupid to think he would be able to help.
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> The real world is scary. Then again, to Anxiety, what isn't scary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy, comments and kudos are gratefully appreciated as always, they feed the muses. And now, finally, Anxiety tries to save the day.
> 
> Chapter title is from **All we are** by _Matt Nathanson_.

****

### **Change the way you lose.**

**  
**

Anxiety has never manifested himself in Thomas’ world before. It is large and scary, more so in the dim light when he doesn’t really know where anything is. Strange objects create looming shapes, and the young facet swallows down the rising panic as best he can. Everything looks different out here, larger, sharper - scarier. Even though he knows this bedroom from the mental recreation in the mind, it is as though he is in a completely new place, one filled with untold terrors just waiting to jump out and destroy whatever it can get its filthy hands on. He swallows down his own fears as best he can, pushing them aside as he tries to push aside all the ways this could go wrong for Thomas too. The real world is terrifying if he allows himself to think about it. All the stories Creativity and Thomas come up with, all the worlds they create with dangers and heroes - it all pales in comparison to the horrors that lurk outside the house.

How can Anxiety possibly hope to protect Thomas from all the evil of the world? How can he keep him safe when there is so much bad out there? There is good too, he knows it. But sometimes, he struggles to understand why they risk the bad in the hope of getting the good. It would be easier if they just stayed inside and safe all the time. It wouldn't be better though, he has to keep reminding himself, that kind of future is not what he wants for Thomas. He wants him to be safe and happy, and if he took that much control, if he pushes and pushes and lets himself be so much of his host then yes - Thomas would be safe. He would stay indoors and watch the world go by with suspicious, paranoid eyes. But he wouldn't be happy, he wouldn't have been able to follow his dreams and live a good life. Anxiety can't take that away from him, he just can't. 

Deceit always says there is something wrong with Anxiety when he admits something like that. That he should be focused on what he is, he should protect Thomas and direct his attention towards all the possible dangers. So what if his life is more restricted as a result, it will be safer and that is all Anxiety should care about. But how can he be what he is, if that just hinders Thomas? How is he supposed to do that to his host? 

Something creaks menacingly in the hallway outside, Anxiety flinching at the sound, and all the barely repressed terror comes pouring back into him like a powerful wave in the middle of winter.

He wants to go home. Tears fill his eyes for a moment, breath catching in his throat and Anxiety just wants to go home. This is too scary, too new and unexpected and he was so, so, so _stupid_ to think he can do this, so stupid to think he would be able to help. Breath catches in his throat, oxygen refusing to draw into his lungs, and he just wants to go home, wants to breathe, wants to hide and hide until everything he is scared of has vanished in time. 

A noise from the other side of the room drags his attention back to the here and now, the elastic snapping in him as he takes a single staggering step towards the bed. Cold air rushes into his body, Anxiety breathing greedily, gulping down the precious air. 

Thomas. He is affecting Thomas again. He can't, he can't - he has to do better than this. Anxiety clutches the stuffed rabbit tightly, bringing it up to his face to breathe deeply. It smells of Creativity, of paint and ink, and brings to mind untold stories waiting to be brought to life. It shouldn't be a good combination but somehow it works, it comforts him. It makes him feel as if he is not completely alone.

Anxiety can be brave here. For Thomas, he will be brave.

Gradually, his eyes adjust to the dim light cast by the starry night light on the opposite wall, the tiny object throwing a whole universe across the room. For a moment, it is all Anxiety can do to stand and stare at it, marvelling at the patterns created there. Logic would know if these were real patterns, if they were the same as all the dots in the night sky. Anxiety rather thinks he would like to see an actual, real night sky sometime - but only if Logic was there too, sharing the experience with him. It would be better if he wasn’t alone, if there was someone to fill the silence without expecting Anxiety to talk too and more than that, Logic would know the stories of them, the reasons why they have the names they do. It’s yet another reason why he thinks Logic is so much more than he wants to allow himself to be. Logic can sometimes even see the images when Anxiety can’t, can somehow look at a scattering of stars and see a bear or a lion or a swan. It’s incredible. 

Sometimes, Anxiety almost wishes they could be friends. Sometimes he forgets himself so much as to catch a forming want taking shape. It's almost always aimed at something completely over the top and impossible. It's almost always wishing one of the so called Light Sides was his friend, that he could do normal things. Staring at the lights brings that all back to him, along with cold, harsh reality of how impossible that actually is. They tolerated him sure, but he was always one word off Creativity reminding him he was a Dark Side or throwing some particularly cruel taunt his way. One wrong step, one push too hard in trying to just protect Thomas and Creativity would go right back into insulting him and considering him the bad guy. Dark Sides sounded evil and Anxiety knows enough about stories to know that the bad guys didn't get happy endings. They didn't get what they wanted. It had always made him wonder why they were bad guys in the first place, why they chose such a thing.

He didn't chose to be evil but... he never feels evil. He is bad, he knows his, but he never feels like a full fledged Dark Side. Still, Anxiety knows he certainly isn't a Light Side after all, and what else did that leave him but stuck at the other end of the spectrum? Where did that leave him but out in the cold and trying not to freeze to death? 

Roughly, he lifts a hand to swipe at his face, brushing away the stray drops of tears that had managed to slip free of his eyes despite his best efforts. Anxiety knows his thoughts have a tendency to spiral, to get caught in the same few things as he obsessives over them. This is just another example of that and he can't let himself think about it any further. It doesn't matter what kind of side he is, so long as he is the kind to help Thomas.

His hand is still damp but Anxiety grips Mrs Fluffybottom nevertheless, tugging her as close as he can. Eyes close as he dips his head, burying it against her fur. She feels like a hug he can carry around with him, one that won't question or judge him. Won't push him to try and talk about his feelings or laugh if he admits he has feelings. She won't tell him he is weak or pathetic or too much, too worried about all the little things. All she will do is support him. 

The hug settles him, Anxiety using it to ground him further. He keeps his eyes closed as he goes through his breathing exercises. It's only when he feels properly in control of himself again that he even dares open his eyes once more. 

Carefully, he peers over Mrs Fluffybottom’s head, refusing to focus on the stars. Instead, Anxiety uses the dim light to try and make sense of all the strange shapes scattered around and he should know this room. He has seen the mental representation of it often enough after all. He lets the light turn the scary shapes into things he gradually starts to recognize. 

The seven year olds room looks like a hurricane has gone through it. Since it _is_ a seven year olds room, Anxiety supposes that is a pretty fair description of what he is looking at.

The bookcases are filled with all manner of stories, and sometimes, Anxiety likes to sneak into the memories to retrieve one. Stories calm him, and now, if he wanted, he could touch the actual books they came from. Toys are scattered across the floor in a haphazard fashion, blocks, cars, teddies, books. All left where they had been abandoned, discarded by the young boy as something new catches his fancy instead. The clothes Thomas had been wearing during the day are left in an untidy heap beside the bed, instead of in the dirty clothes hamper.

Anxiety’s mouth twists into a little grimace as he stares at the mess. Even buried in the thick fur of the toy rabbit, his hands are itching to start collecting up all the small cars and pieces of Lego, to put them all back in the containers they belonged in. The room is in such a mess and he hates it.

Thomas had been told quite clearly to clean his room before bed. He was always supposed to clean his room and what if mom and dad got mad because he hadn't bothered? He hadn't even managed to deal with his clothes properly and while he knows it's because of the headache what if they think he is lazy? Or just plain bad? Thomas isn't a bad boy but all it takes is a couple of little things and before you know it, things starts snowballing and Thomas gets a bad reputation. 

This was exactly the kind of situation Anxiety was supposed to avoid but he hadn't wanted to push himself into the boy tonight, not on top of that headache. He had taken a step back and this... this mess was the result. It makes his head hurt in a way that is completely separate to the headache that Thomas is suffering from. This is more akin to being tugged roughly in two different directions, each pulling harshly and not knowing which way to actually turn. 

Breathing is uneven, and it takes more effort than he is happy with, to pull a shaky breath of air into his lungs. But with the air comes the smell of the toy he is holding, triggering a flood of memories that all revolve around Creativity. Some good, some bad. Such as fighting with him because an idea was dangerous and why couldn’t the fanciful side just be sensible for _once_? And then the most recent interaction comes to mind, the way Creativity had looked so worried for him, the way he had tried to offer comfort in his own, clueless way. It makes something heavy and yet comforting settle around him, almost as though Anxiety is wearing a second hoodie, another layer to protect himself with. 

The added weight supports him, for all that it is just in his head and he forces himself to focus on more of the room, to take note of all the little details. He might need to know the details later, he needs to be alert after all.

By his bed, Anxiety can see one of the many notebooks Thomas likes to write in, filled with the childish scrawl he knows so well. The times when Thomas is writing are the times Anxiety is the nearest to happiness he has ever been, the times he creeps to the forefront of the mind without letting his influence seep in, just to watch the stories unfold. 

He supposes when they are older and Thomas starts to consider sharing his work with people, he will have to step in and he can’t help the twinge of regret that spikes through him at the thought. He doesn’t want to be the reason Thomas stops writing and creating but the idea of people saying mean things about his host, the idea of him being crushed by the weight of the world is almost too much to bare. Still, his parents like his work, he can keep showing it to them, so long as Thomas never shares his work with complete strangers and opens himself up to anonymous hate mail, then maybe Anxiety won’t have to push back, won't have to ruin the fun just to keep him protected.

Maybe Anxiety will even get lucky. Maybe Creativity and Mortality will be happy spinning worlds and won’t actually want Thomas to become a published author or actor or anything else where he will have to spend his whole existence in some freakish torture where life was just rejection after rejection after rejection. 

Another whimper of pain comes from the mound of blankets on the bed.

Right. The reason he had come here in the first place. Tomorrow he was going to have to work overtime to make sure this sort of mess never happens again. It would suck and Thomas might hate him a little for it, but it was for the best. He couldn’t run the risk that his parents might get the wrong idea about him, or that one of the others might use the opportunity to try and gain a foothold in the more active areas of the mind.

He would rather Thomas hate him than let one of the others take more control. His own feelings are nothing compared to what would happen if a side that actually hated Thomas had any real degree of participation in day to day life. Anxiety bites lightly at his bottom lip as he wars with himself for a few moments longer before looking down at his sidekick. 

“Don't worry Mrs Fluffybottom,” Anxiety tells the bunny seriously, lifting her up so they were eye to eye. “I'll look after you.”

Carefully, he picks his way through the room, avoiding touching anything. He doesn't want to leave behind any traces of his visit here, just as he doesn't want to make a noise which might bring a parent running. He can sink back down quick enough to avoid being seen if someone does enter - Anxiety doesn't think they would be able to even see him since he is just an aspect of Thomas, but he doesn't know for sure and so isn't willing to take the risk. But that's not the problem, the reason behind the fear which ebbs and flows with each thudding heartbeat.

Anxiety doesn't think he would have the courage to come back, not now he has seen the real world where everything was sharper, was more intense and well - real. Everything was different out here, despite how similar they might first appear. His heart beats faster with every step he takes, a fluttering, dancing beat that makes him feel a little dizzy just listening to the speed. This close to the bed, he can make out some of the words on the pages, a list of names scribbled and mostly crossed out for whatever reason and on the other, the start of a story. He stops dead, staring blankly at the page for a moment. Now that he has stopped however, Anxiety doesn’t know how to start again. 

He risks another glance at Mrs Fluffybottom, needing the support even more now. She smiles blandly back up at him, stitched expression unchanging. Her hug is just as soft and comforting as the first time he had found the rabbit, Anxiety giving her another squeeze just to be on the safe side. He can’t help turning her own afterwards, restless hands dancing over the rabbit, just needing the small movements to try and keep himself from larger movements in turn.

A tag is carefully sewed along part of the hem of the back of the dress. Anxiety can't believe he has never noticed this before and it is enough to stop his aimless search. The edge of her dress is very carefully turned over, Anxiety brushing a finger over the tag. A name is written there in a red, sparkly gel pen. Creativity. 

The name brings a faint, wobbly smile to his face, the reminder that the other side has been nice to him lately. The other side trusted him enough to let him borrow a toy that Creativity loved enough to write his name in. If Creativity is willing to do that much for Anxiety, then he has to return the favour. He has to save Thomas and by extension save the other sides. Maybe tomorrow he will even tell Creativity what he did, when he slinks back into the upper areas to return the toy. Creativity will be pleased if he did something good. 

Dress flutters back down around the rabbit once more, a determined expression on his face. Legs finally move again, another step. And then another, and another and another. Until he is finally up against the bed, staring down at Thomas. The young boy is caught in some uneasy sleep, face twisted up in pain that follows him even now, hurting him endlessly.

His hand is trembling as he reaches out, fingers hovering over his host’s forehead, just shy of actually touching him. Anxiety hesitates, and he hadn’t thought his plan through this far. He hadn’t worked out what he was going to do in practical terms beyond the desire to do something, a half thought out plan to remove the pain and take it on as his own.

 _Well?_ His mind hisses, and he has been ignoring his self loathing for whole minutes. That, it seems, is far too long for its liking. _What's the plan now genius? Close your eyes and wish real hard? What did you expect to happen?_

He chews on his lip nervously, wishing desperately that he could lift a hand to his mouth to chew on the cuff of his hoodie instead. He wouldn't need to worry about biting too hard on fabric after all. But one hand is holding Mrs Fluffybottom and the other is hovering over Thomas, they need to remain where they are which means he has to be aware of himself a little bit. 

It takes effort, but he forces himself to lower his hand just that fraction more, to actually touch Thomas, fingers brushing gently over his forehead, pushing his fringe out of the way. He could push right now. Anxiety can almost hear the others, the whispers, how excited and proud they would be of him. They would treat him nicer after that and Anxiety can’t lie, it would be lovely, if they were just a little bit nicer to him. He could push himself into the boy with so much force from out here, could fill his whole body and mind with fear and worry. He could overwrite everyone else and keep Thomas safe and at least Thomas will be sa-

No.

That’s not him. That’s not what he wants. That’s what they want. He won’t let that happen.

Anxiety takes a deep breath and _pulls._

Pain. So much pain. His head feels as though he is wearing a heavy hat that is several sizes too small for him, simultaneously weighing him down and pinching all the way around his head, pressing in on all sides. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much, the pain spreading across his shoulders and down his spine. Everywhere is pressure and pain and the absence of thought.

Mrs Fluffybottom falls to the floor, slipping through numb fingers without him even realising it, too caught up in the whirlwind of pain to be able to take anything else in. He’s felt pain before of course, but this is something completely different, this is nails stabbing in his eyes with every beat of his heart. This is an agony he doesn’t know how to deal with.

Anxiety doesn't know how long he stands there, almost paralysed from the headache wanting to split his head apart before he starts to come back to himself. 

The first thing he becomes aware of beyond the pain is the sharp, tangy taste of blood. It fills his mouth but it still takes Anxiety a long few seconds to realise he has bitten down hard enough on his lip to spill blood. Dully, he swallows, grimacing against the taste - he'd spit it out but that will make a mess and even in this haze, he knows he doesn't want to do that. 

All he can think, is relief. That he is the one suffering this now, not Thomas. He tries to mentally step back from the boy, to lessen his influence, wrapping his presence around the headache instead. Let him feel it, just him. Not Deceit, not Dad, not Creativity and certainly not Thomas. Hopefully the mind is a more settled place now and everyone can start to relax.

Fingers twitch, Anxiety belatedly noting the lack of Mrs Fluffybottom. He can feel her resting against his leg, and he should just bend down to get her. That means moving though and right now it is hard to muster up the energy to do that. He just wants to drop down where he is standing and remain perfectly still until the pain goes away.

Someone else might come into the room. Mom or Dad, wanting to check in on their son. He can’t be here when that happens. A faint tendril of fear cuts through him, not enough to breach the pain completely but enough to make him realise he needed to move before he was caught, either by a parent or a side come to check on Thomas. Fight or flight. 

Flight. 

Moving his head to dip down towards the floor makes the pain worse, vision swimming a little, and Anxiety has to bite down on the whimper that wants to break free. Fingers curl tightly around the toy, her softness a welcome contrast to the sharp pain. Slowly, he starts to stand up again, drawing the rabbit up with him as he does so until he is standing at his full height once more. He hopes it has worked. He has the headache, and hopefully that means Thomas doesn’t. All he has to do is check and it is strange how much that frightens him - the fear that he might have done this for nothing, that he has just caused more pain. All he has to do is look at the young boy to see if he is still in pain. Then at least he will know one way or the other. If he can just convince himself to look. Just. Look. Nervously, he looks down.

Anxiety freezes.

Thomas has his eyes open. Thomas is looking at him. His host seems more sleepy than anything, blinking slowly as he stares up at Anxiety, his face not betraying any emotion - but it has to be fear right? Or anger? Disgust even?

Fight or flight. Or freeze. And right now, he is a deer in the headlights, holding the rabbit and staring into brown eyes that are so much like his own. (He knows his own are duller by comparison, he knows they lack that warmth.)

The pain in his head is making it hard to think, to focus, dulling everything else around him. Even the panic is lost a little in all encompassing ache in his head. His host is still looking at him.

Thomas has met some of the other before - what kid doesn't have an imaginary friend? He's never wanted to meet Anxiety in the flesh and while that hurts more than he can say, he understands why. And now here he is, looming over him in the dark like a freak and messing with his mind without asking. He feels like the worst kind of villain. Something out of one of Deceit’s comic books, something for the heroes to thwart, a disease, a sickness. He is a monster. A monster, a monster, a **monster**.

Thomas smiles up at him. Smiles. At _him_.

He's never had so much as a good word thrown in his direction from the boy before, merely panic and hurt and frustration that Anxiety was getting in the way again. Nothing but negative feelings rolling towards Anxiety. It is all he deserves of course, he’s not like Creativity or Dad, he doesn’t bring joy or excitement to the young boy. He’s scared his host in the past, conjuring up all manner of horrible outcomes to any situation, making him check and double check every little thing he does or needs to do.

All he does is hold Thomas back.

And now Thomas is smiling at him and the world makes perfect sense for perhaps the first time ever. 

Yes.

 _ **This.**_

This is what it is about, this is why he does what he does, this is why he does anything. This is his whole purpose and it is somewhat of a shock for Anxiety to realise he had been right all this time. It **was** all about loving Thomas, it was all to make him happy, to see him smile. 

He isn't sure yet of the conclusions that have to be drawn from this. If he is right then the others have all been wrong in the way they treat Thomas, which, admittedly, he has started to suspect already. But that means _Deceit_ has been wrong in the way he treats Thomas and he isn't ready to think what that means about his friend. Not when his head is still pounding and the starry night light is far too bright for his suddenly sensitive eyes.

“Th-Thanks Virgil,” Thomas mutters, words almost slurred, his hand shifting from his side to stifle a yawn.

The young side reels backwards as though burnt.

Cautiously, he looks around the room, looking for this Virgil, that Thomas had thanked. There is nobody else here, and he can't sense the presence of any other side, but that would mean... that would mean he was... he was talking to Anxiety?

Anxiety turns back to Thomas, only to find the boy has fallen asleep, face cleared of the pain, a relaxed expression in its place and the catch of breath in his throat this time has nothing to do with fear. He looks so young and innocent, every inch his seven years.

Something warm and hot swells in Anxiety for a moment, something he knows is love. He did this. He did something good and he helped Thomas at long last. Is this what being a Light Side is really like?

It’s yet more proof that the pain is worth it to see Thomas free of it. 

But with Thomas sleeping, it means he can't ask him what he meant by that new name. A strange, almost bubbly feeling rises in his chest. It feels sort of like the start of a panic attack, when his chest is at once too tight and not contained enough for all of the feelings he is currently experiencing right now. But unlike a panic attack, he doesn’t feel restrained by it, it doesn’t seek to overwhelm him. It simmers at a lower level instead, just enough to give him slight jitters, to keep him from surrendering completely to the pain. His job isn't completely finished. Not yet. Not until he gets back home. 

Virgil.

Thomas has called him Virgil. 

He smiles. The expression feels foreign on his face, mouth aching from the way his lips are twisting in an unfamiliar pattern. Anxiety doesn't care that the motion has split open his bottom lip again, a new trickle of blood running down his mouth. He can’t bring himself to care about much of anything like that right now. 

With one final glance at the still sleeping boy, Anxiety sinks back down into the mindscape, reappearing in his own bedroom and flopping down on the bed, limbs tangled up with the large rabbit. Not even the pulses of pain can distract him from this unexpected mystery - this gift Thomas has apparently given him. A name. A name that was his.

He lies there for what feels like hours, pain and excitement swirling around in his mind. Every breath draws in more of Mrs Fluffybottom’s scent, more memories, more positive emotions and it is all so foreign but maybe just maybe, new doesn't always have to mean bad after all. Gradually, he feels sleep start to tug at him, tiredness overcoming the headache bit by bit.

 _Virgil_ , he thinks sleepily, a smile tugging on his lips again, despite the agony that is ripping through his skull. He is in so much pain but for the first time since he has possibly existed, he doesn't care about the pain. He isn't sad, he isn't worried or scared, or any of the emotions Anxiety is used to feeling. 

Instead he feels... well, he's not exactly sure what he feels. Contentment maybe? Anxiety isn't sure you can be content with pain behind the eyeballs and what feels like a metal spike trying to slowly dig its way into his brain. He isn't even sure if he has ever felt contentment before, and so has nothing to compare it too. All he knows is that he did something good. He wasn't a bad side, he wasn't dark and evil. He helped, he helped, he actually did something that helped without scaring Thomas first. There was more to him than just upsetting the boy.

 _Virgil_. It sounds right in his head, as if he has been waiting all these years for someone to say the name and for him to know that it was his. It has clicked into his mind, settling itself in place as though it has always been there. Maybe he has always been Virgil and just never knew until tonight. 

He eventually drifts off, still holding onto those happy thoughts and clutching the stuffed toy tight, that faint smile on his face.

_My name is Virgil. I helped Thomas and he gave me a name. I'll... I'll tell Deceit in the morning._

\--

He doesn't tell Deceit in the morning.

He also doesn't get the chance to give Mrs Fluffybottom back in the morning.

Thomas doesn't smile at him the next time he sees him. 

Nor does he remember giving him his name.

So. There is all that.


	4. The victims of ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wakes the next morning, he is already in full flight or fight, anxiety coursing through his body. It's like the worst sort of sugar rush running through his veins as he snaps from asleep to alert in a matter of seconds, almost leaping from his bed to stand in the center of his bedroom, arms half raised in case he needs to attack or defend himself.
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Promises are broken - promises are kept. Either way, it goes badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure if you guys were going to get a chapter this week, I’ve had a really rough past few days. Luckily - for me, not for the boys - this chapter was already planned to be a sad one, so I was able to funnel my negative emotions into making them pay. So you guys know what that means.
> 
> All aboard the angst train! Choo-choo!
> 
> Chapter title this time comes from **Kings and Queens** by _30 Seconds to Mars._
> 
> Comments and Kudos, as always, feed my soul.

****

### **The victims of ourselves**

**  
**

When he wakes the next morning, he is already in full flight or fight, anxiety coursing through his body. It's like the worst sort of sugar rush running through his veins as he snaps from asleep to alert in a matter of seconds, almost leaping from his bed to stand in the center of his bedroom, arms half raised in case he needs to attack or defend himself.

Virgil glances wildly around the room, breath coming out in frantic heaving gasps as he searches for the source of this sudden fear. Nothing seems out of place, but he trusts his own instincts, trusts that his body is alert because of some subconscious signals. He barely notices that the headache is gone. All he is focused on right now is trying to locate the danger. Virgil knows there must be something, some tiny little thing that made him panic in his sleep. A sound perhaps or a smell, something out of the ordinary, something new. There is always a reason for his panicked reactions.

It might be a stupid or silly reason but he knows with certainty that there will _be_ a reason. All he has to do is work out what it is.

No matter how hard he looks however, his bedroom looks completely innocent, not an item out of place. Dark, gloomy and more than a little creepy but devoid of any new reason for him to be scared. Breath is as ragged as the first moment he woke up, lungs starting to burn a little from the near hyperventilation. Virgil feels as though he has run a marathon and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot catch his breath. He needs to calm down, he needs to get his breathing under control first and foremost. He needs to borrow the strength of Creativity again - or to be more honest, he needs to cuddle the stuffed rabbit once more until he feels better.

Wait.

Mrs Fluffybottom. 

Where is Mrs Fluffybottom?

His arms suddenly feel cold and empty without her. Virgil knows he fell asleep cuddling her close, and he spins back to look at his bed in case she has just gotten tangled in the bedding. It's a faint hope, one that is almost instantly dashed as he darts back to his bed and pulls all the blankets and pillows from the mattress. Each one is shaken violently before being tossed to the ground. Each one is devoid of the large, dress wearing stuffed rabbit. 

Panic claws wildy in his throat, Virgil feeling his breathing grow ever more laboured and strained. 

The others. One of the others somehow managed to get into his room. And somehow was able to creep up to his bed, take the toy and then leave again, all without Virgil so much as stirring until it was too late. He's lost Mrs Fluffybottom. How could he have done that, how could he have possibly been that stupid? He should have been better, he should have done better. Creativity had trusted him and this was what happened.

So much for being a protector. So much for being brave.

So much for being _good_.

He doesn't feel like Virgil anymore, the new name suddenly tasting bitter sweet on his tongue. He doesn't deserve anything as special as a name, not when he is incapable of looking after an inanimate object for one single night. 

If only he could be imaginative like Creativity, he might be able to work out only one of the other side's would have had reason to come into his room, would have grown angry at the sight of the toy and potentially taken it. He could have placed himself in their shoes, tried to understand their motives. Or come up with some cunning plan to trick them into revealing where the toy was.

If only he could be methodical like Logic, then he could create a map of the mindscape, cross out places he was unlikely to find her, narrow down the possibilities to a mere handful of locations before he even started looking and a lot faster too. Or devised a clever strategy to make the thief reveal themselves and dismantle any attempts to avoid the truth with clear facts. 

If only he could be full of family feeling and the desire to do right like Morality, he would have gone straight to Creativity, confessed all and trusted that the pair of them could look for Mrs Fluffybottom together. He could have tried to believe in himself and rest, been a team player and between all of them it would have taken no time at all to search through the whole place.

If only he could be quick witted and silver tongued like Deceit, he might have been able to come up with some excuse to distract Creativity, to buy himself some time to find Mrs Fluffybottom in safety. He could have spun story after story and cast Creativity as the hero, pandered to his ego until he believed this was all some quest for a newly minted prince to partake in, and he ended up thanking him for creating an adventure.

But he is just Anxiety.

He can do none of that.

All he can do is crouch in a ball in the middle of his room and try and fight off the impending panic attack. Somewhere along the way his hands have curled into his hair, gripping the locks tightly and pulling. The low level pain is just enough to keep him in the moment and stop him floating away altogether. Slowly, Anxiety rocks backwards and forwards, muffled sobs slipping out his mouth. He tries to swallow them as best be can, ugly gasps filling the silence around around him. Tears trace a faint path down his cheeks, Anxiety blinking furiously in a futile bid to chase them away. He doesn’t know how long he remains there, locked inside his own mind, too caught up in the storm of emotions to even consider anything else.

All he knows is the change, when it happens is sudden. It’s always a sudden change. 

Something clicks in his mind, an invisible switch swapping from a frozen panic to a determined state of mind. Still a form of panic, every nerve on fire, and a tiny part of him wonders if this is what drinking coffee was like. It made people jittery they said, and it had been added to the list of things for him to worry about - the last thing he wants is to drink something that would make him more miserable, make all his feelings that much more intense. Plus people said it was bitter and yucky. 

No. The _last_ , last thing he wants, is for something bad to happen to Mrs Fluffybottom. 

He has to find her. Before it's too late. 

Even now, he tries to minimize his connection to Thomas. This isn't his fault, his problem. He doesn't want his host to suffer a panic attack for something that is purely Anxiety’s issue. Thomas is just getting over his headache, he can’t make it worse so soon after making it better. It hurts to hold all the emotions close to him, to grip at the panic and fear and pain but better this than the alternative, better this than being evil. Movements are awkward, ungainly as he climbs back to his feet and shuffles out of his room, not even bothering to change out of his wrinkled sleepwear. 

Time passes with a speed that he is only too aware of. A clock ticking somewhere in the back of his mind, mocking him. He is running out of time and still he cannot find Mrs Fluffybottom.

He checks the others rooms first. It's easy enough to sneak into the rooms, one after another. Fear courses through his veins as he creeps around, gingerly searching through their possessions for any sign of the treasured toy. It’s a miracle none of them can hear his heart, it is pounding so loudly in his ears and drowning out any other sound. Anxiety feels the worst about going into Deceits room without his permission, without his knowledge. But... but Deceit comes into his room all the time when Anxiety doesn’t ask him to. When maybe, if he is being completely honest with himself, he doesn’t really want him to. 

Still, they are best friends after all, they don’t have to ask right? That’s what Deceit says and it has to work both ways right? Just because Anxiety has never pushed those limits himself, it doesn’t mean he can’t. He still feels terrible about checking the room at all, about doubting his friend, about betraying their friendship by even suspecting that Deceit would steal from him. 

That guilt grows and grows into a sick, twisted feeling independent of the guilt about losing Creativity’s toy. There is nothing in Deceit’s room to even hint that he had anything to do with the disappearance. Of course there would be nothing. How could Anxiety have even entertained the idea that his friend would do anything so terrible? He really is the worst sort of friend. If only he was good, like Dad, he would at least admit to his friend what he had done, would have thrown himself on his mercy and begged for another chance.

Anxiety knows he will never have the courage for that. Better to hide his shame, his weakness than admit to it.

With the bedrooms searched though, he has no choice but to move further afield, moving through the various parts of the house he shares with the others. She isn’t in any of the areas they live in. He doubts she is upstairs, he doesn’t know if Creativity can even come down here and even if he did, the appearance of any of the main sides would have been enough to send the whole house into an uproar. Anxiety wouldn’t have slept through that. So, she isn’t back home. 

She isn’t in the memory archives as far as he can tell. Well. She is, but he knows those versions are mere shadows of her, memories in fact. They would crumble into dust if he took one of them and tried to give it back to Creativity, if he tried to pretend that this was the real, current version of her. He can’t do that. Plus, he doesn’t want to deprive Thomas of a memory. 

Reluctantly then, Anxiety slips out into the subconscious. It’s not the last place to check, but is the last place he wants to check. So, by some twisted logic, it was where she was going to be. Anxiety holds no illusions now about her disappearance - this was all to hurt him, so of course she would be in a place he hates to visit. He wishes he had Mrs Fluffybottom with him for support. 

Then again, if he had the rabbit, he wouldn’t be searching here in the first place. He hates moving through the subconscious, the deserts and plains constantly shifting. Memories and thoughts are scarred across the wilderness, little wisps of colour and sound that dart across the otherwise barren landscape. His footsteps create solid ground as he wanders and Anxiety does his very best not to think too hard on how that makes no sense at all. There is nothing to walk upon until they create it, the path crumbling back into the ether behind him. If he thinks too hard about it, the ground underfoot might vanish and he could fall into the endless nothingness. For all he knows, if he starts thinking too deeply on any subject, he might be able to summon it to this plane. His fears could become physical presence in the subconscious and Anxiety does not want that. Cannot afford that. 

Logic would probably know more about how this place works, if any of his fears could become real. Maybe he should try and nudge him into a lecture about it, assuming he ever gets out of this place alive. Assuming he ever finds the toy.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a spotlight clicks on, illuminating a patch of rocks a couple of hundred feet away and in the center of the harsh white light lies the object of his desire.

Anxiety almost sobs with relief at the sight of the rabbit on the ground. Everything around her is the usual mix of colours and shapes without any real form but the rocky outcrop she is lying on seems solid enough, seems a real thing for a real toy. He breaks into a little jog, crossing the distance in a matter of moments, casting a critical eye over her as he does so. She looks a little ruffled, bits of fur sticking up in different directions but all her limbs are still attached which... well, to be honest it is more than he was expecting. He knows only too well the cold cruelty of the others, knows how jealous and angry they can grow and how physical possessions can be destroyed in their rage. It is selfish maybe, but he is glad they don't have much power over Thomas, he is glad Thomas listens to him and not them.

He drops to his knees in front of her, scooping her up and into his arms for a closer inspection, needing to reassure himself that she was real and intact. Her dress is ripped. Anxiety’s mouth goes dry as he turns her over, examining the torn garment carefully and aside from the rip along the hem of her dress at the back, it is still intact. It could be a lot worse and he knows he should feel grateful about that. And yet... this feels more than just an accidental bit of damage or even a random rip. There is a malice he doesn’t quite understand yet, to this, something deliberate. A faint memory tugs on his mind, a distant bell ringing as he stares at the jagged edges, trying to work out what it is about the dress that is different, wrong. Beyond the rip itself of course.

“What... what did you do?” 

Anxiety shrieks, flinching violently as the voice cuts through his concentration. He hadn’t been expecting to hear anyone else this deep into the subconscious and certainly not him. Almost afraid of what he might see, he shifts a little to take in the other side that has appeared in the subconscious with him. What is he even doing here? How did he find him? It should be next to impossible to find another in the subconscious, unless you already knew were you were going and even then, the constant shifting of the landscape meant it was no guarantee.

Creativity is standing behind him, still in his prince outfit, eyes fixed on the toy in his hands. And his expression... oh, his expression. Eyes are shadowed by his hair but Anxiety can make out the rest of his face, can see lips twisted into a pain filled expression as the fanciful side takes in his damaged toy. He looks up after a couple of moments, anger shining in his eyes. Anxiety supposes it is no less than he deserves for letting something bad happen to Mrs Fluffybottom.

“You said you would return her. This is you promising to give her back in the morning?”

“I... I was going to give her back,” Anxiety protests. Dread gnaws in the pit of his stomach, something cold and far too familiar. He has let Creativity down, and he hates that.

How can he admit that he had lost her? That someone had been able to enter his room and remove her from his arms without Anxiety even stirring? He is the fight or flight instinct, he is supposed to be alert even while asleep in case of dangers. Creativity had let him borrow her and he was meant to keep her safe from all dangers, no matter what.

Having a headache is no excuse. Having a headache he stole from Thomas is even less of one.

Creativity still looks furious and while all the excuses, the reasons swirl madly inside his head, he cannot seem to form the words. Tongue is heavy, useless in his mouth, and he knows all the explanations in the world will not be enough to wave away this crime.

“It's the middle of the afternoon Anxiety,” he sneers, face almost unrecognizable, shifted into something new by the anger.

Anxiety has no answer to that - he knows that time has passed by in a blur of course, had been keeping some mental track of it but he hadn’t realised quite how much time, hadn’t noticed how rapidly he was losing precious minutes. It’s yet another thing to add to the long list of ways he has failed. It seems as though the other side isn’t expecting an answer however, simply barrowling on with his accusations. 

“I find you trying to hide away with her in one of the more secret corners of Tho- _did you rip my name tag out?_ ” Voice shifts into an almost scream, Creativity lunging for Mrs Fluffybottom. Anxiety is too stunned to even think about trying to hold onto her in the face of this new information.

So that was the missing piece of the dress. He remembers the tag now, the name in bright, glittery red. Anxiety had even found it cute in a way, sweet that Creativity cares so much about the toy. He doesn’t want to damage any part of Mrs Fluffybottom and certainly not the part that reminded him most of the other side. 

Does Creativity really think he did this on purpose? This looks bad he knows, but surely, _surely_ , Creativity knows him better than this?

“What is wrong with you? Did you think if you did that you could pretend she was yours?” Creativity cradles Mrs Fluffybottom against his chest as he talks, as though trying to protect her from Anxiety and that - that _hurts_ , more than he could have imagined it would. To have him stare at him with such naked hate - hurt. To know that he thought Anxiety was the type of side that would do that, to a toy they both loved. To mistake the aspect of anxiety for jealousy, or possessiveness. 

If only he was brave like Creativity, he would stand up for himself, would fight fire with fire. He would make him listen, would show enough force and energy until Creativity had no choice but to believe him, to realise he would never do such a horrible thing. He’s fought plenty of battles in the past of course, he’s argued with all the other sides when he had to, when it was a case of defending Thomas, protecting Thomas. Defending himself... is something different. It lacks the same threat and he is left feeling sick at the thought instead of determined. It's a lot easier to fight an enemy or a danger, a lot easier to stand up to a threat than it is to fight someone who could have one day been a friend. He doesn't know how to stand up to someone like Creativity, doesn't know how to be... better.

But he is just Anxiety. Not Dad, not Logic, not any of sides he wishes he could be like. Certainly not Virgil. So he does the only thing he can do right now.

He turns tail and runs.

\--

“The floor is lava!”

Thomas’ voice is loud and playful, the pure joy cutting through even the haze of self loathing that Anxiety has constructed around himself. 

After his argument with Creativity, he had retreated to his room, locking it even from Deceit as he indulged in one of the worst parts of himself. Wallowing in self pity. His friend had tried to comfort him, tried to offer a sympathetic ear but Anxiety didn’t want to hear any of it. He didn’t want the inevitable ‘I told you so’ or to have all his own flaws pointed out, no matter how kindly it was meant. He really doesn’t think he could handle that right now, not with the pain of the afternoon still so raw and aching in the space where his heart should be. All he wants to do is hide under the covers of his bed until it all goes away. Thomas shouts again, giggling as he climbs onto a chair. 

He seems to be fully recovered from the headache of yesterday and Anxiety is able to gain a little comfort from that, from knowing he still did something to help, even if nobody might believe him. He knows, and maybe, just maybe, it will be enough.

Stranger things have happened after all. 

Although it's the last thing he wants to do, Anxiety pulls his hoodie on as he makes his way to the upper reaches of the mind. Thomas might need him and no matter his own personal feelings he knows he has to put the boy first. 

The room seems to almost crackle with dangerous energy, a tension that he knows has only grown with his appearance. It doesn't take someone with the brains of Logic to point out that it had coincided with his arrival, or where the tension is coming from, bubbling and rolling out of one side like an angry volcano ready to erupt. 

Across the room, Creativity is glaring at him, making Anxiety shrink further and further back into his hoodie. He wants to try and defend himself again, wants to scream and shout and stamp his foot in a rage. He wants to just be able to be a child and not have to deal with all of the negative without ever getting any of the good. He wants to feel that smile from Thomas upon him once more, he wants to be Virgil once more. He wants to know what it properly means to be happy, to be content.

He wants to ask if Creativity has been able to fix her yet.

He wants, he wants, _he wants_ \- his wants are like a great river bursting over its banks, deep passions and swirling currents no longer able to be contained within his small form. He wants everything he has ever dreamed of, he wants to be a part of this instead of coming late to offer his view, he wants to be more than he is supposed to be.

Anxiety doesn't do any of that of course.

All he can hear is his own blood, the rush of it from his heart, an endless, horrifying beat. All he can see in his head is that look of utter anguish, devastation as Creativity had taken in the sight of his beloved toy, messed up and broken, with Anxiety holding her like a villain. He had been wrong yesterday, it is only now, that he is just like one of the evil guys from Deceit’s comic books. Every blink brings it into sharper and sharper relief against the dark. He wonders if the image will be forever burnt into his brain or if the passage of time might eventually wash it away.

“Kiddo, you okay with this?” Dad’s voice drags him back to the moment at hand, Anxiety blinking a couple of times as he realises part of the din in his ears is actually the other sides. Even more incredibly, Dad is actually talking to him. And... looking, which Anxiety is less keen on, his mind jumping to all sorts of possibilities as to why he might be looking and what that apparently concerned face might actually mean. He bets Creativity told Dad about the subconscious, about what he thinks Anxiety did there. Dad is probably just waiting for this to be over so he can pull him aside and tell him off. He probably hates Anxiety now, without even giving him a chance to explain himself. 

Creativity snorts, voice brittle and cold. 

“I'm sure if Anxiety has some problem with _my_ idea, he will fight me on it, isn't that right Wicked Worrier of the West?”

With that one sentence he is sent skittering and scrabbling to the edge of the cliff they had unknowingly been perched upon ever since Thomas started this game. It’s as though he has been punched right in the stomach, threatening to send him doubling over and gasping for breath,leaving him scared and alone. One wrong step and everything is going to crash down over the edge all thanks to him and his stupid mouth.

_“Next time you have an idea, I won't fight you on it, I promise.”_

He had said that, hadn’t he. He had made that promise, too caught up in the pain of the moment to worry about anything else. In the real world Thoma squeals with delight, jumping from the first chair to the next. Anxiety flinches at the motion, biting down hard on his lip to stop himself from speaking out, whispering his poison into the young boy’s ear.

Because it _is_ poison, isn’t it? He is poison. 

The challenge shines only too clearly in Creativity’s eyes. He is expecting Anxiety to break his promise, just like he thinks Anxiety broke is back in the subconscious. Well. He is going to show the prince what kind of side he really is. Maybe he can’t defend himself like he wants, maybe he can’t turn the thoughts in his head into something clever and well spoken. The least he can do is keep his promise. 

He ignores the tremble in his hands as he lifts them, tugging his hood up and over his head in a bid to protect himself, to hide a little from the world and Creativity’s smug, _stupid_ face. Who did he think he was? He knows Anxiety doesn’t like this game, he knows the jumping is a little too like flying for the nervous sides tastes but still he picked this game as his idea. 

Anxiety crosses his arms over himself, fingers curling over them, and digging deep into his hoodie. He has to keep quiet, he has to honour this promise and anyway, it’s nothing bad, right?

_A game, a game, it's just a game. Thomas has played this before. We are fine. Everything is fine._

Outside, Thomas carries on playing, oblivious to the stand off in his mind, the way Anxiety shrunk further into himself, teeth gritted hard together in a bid to keep quiet. He promised, he promised, he promised. He will keep his promise, he has to. Across the room from him, Creativity frowns, pose faltering slightly, eyes moving from side to side as if internally replaying recently events. Suddenly, he clicks his fingers, a lightbulb almost physically lighting up above his head.

“Okay Thomas! Let’s make the most of this! Jump from the chair to the table!” 

Anxiety’s head snaps up in horror, mouth dropping open as he realises Creativity is pushing this. Of course he is pushing this, he could never be content to just see that he is getting what he wants. He has to make sure he grinds Anxiety into the dirt first, has to prove himself completely. Has to push and push and try and find his limits, while getting his own way. 

Creativity should know better than to suggest that jump. Because they aren’t allowed to do that jump. The floor is lava is one thing, but they all know Thomas isn’t supposed to climb on the table and he certainly isn’t supposed to try and make such a large leap. Not even his older brothers can do that one safely. 

“Creativity... we promised Mom we wouldn’t...” Morality offers, tone hesitant. His smile is a fraction less bright than normal, eyes flickering between Creativity and Anxiety as though trying to solve the puzzle of their strange behaviour. Maybe... maybe Creativity hasn’t told Dad about recent events. But then why would he be worried about Anxiety? 

“Oh hush, Morality, it will be fine! I’m sure Thomas can do it and anyway, Anxiety isn’t complaining. If even he doesn’t have anything bad to say about my idea then you can’t complain.” Creativity lifts a hand and gives a dismissive wave, his attention turning to fix solely on Thomas and Thomas alone. Anxiety feels a little anger rise up at that. It’s one thing to belittle him, to not listen to him or believe in him. But you don’t be mean to Dad. You listen to Dad, and he is right after all. They had promised they wouldn’t and yet here was Creativity encouraging him to break one just for his own pleasures. How dare he be upset at Anxiety, how dare he try and push him to do the same. 

“Come on Thomas, I know you can do it! I believe in you!” Creativity starts calling out encouragement to his host, almost jumping up and down in excitement as Thomas stares at the table. Anxiety can feel the boy’s own excitement growing, his nervousness and his determination as he crouches a little on the chair, preparing himself for the jump. He doesn’t do anything to try and stop it. How can he? He promised. 

Too late he realises that the jump really is too far. Too late he realises Thomas isn’t going to make it. Too late he realises the cry he can hear is coming from his own mouth, sound torn out against his will. Too late. Too late. Too late. 

And Thomas -

Thomas _falls._


	5. Never an honest word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the real world, Thomas draws in a ragged breath. He screams. And then cries. Loud, gasping sobs that fill the room in a matter of moments. This agony isn't over yet, the aftermath promises its own brand of horrors, its own hideous slideshow, yet more stills to add to his photo album of punishment.
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> The worst day of Anxiety’s life continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Thursday has come around fast hasn't it. Here we are again and I seem to be in a weekly updating pattern, long may this continue! Now that I've acknowledged it, probably not.
> 
> This is another angst heavy chapter, guys, buckle in, because it's going to get rough for a while. There is certainly some emotional fallout and manipulation at play here, along with Thomas' physical injury. I am more than a little nervous about this part. The end part I must have written and rewritten about half a dozen times, I really hope it works and you guys can see what is happening. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Viva La Vida _by **Coldplay.**__

****

****

### **Never an honest word.**

  


The tumble seems to happen in slow motion.

Later, Anxiety will look back on this and examine it almost frame by frame. He will see everything that could have gone wrong before this moment, every misstep they all made along the way. His own mistakes are so much more obvious than the rest, so much more numerous. He knows he is going to see the fall in his nightmares, for many months to come. He can see it all so perfectly. Too perfectly. As if he could reach out to the memory and press pause on it, to be gifted with a freeze frame of perfect clarity.

The split second Thomas’ face turns from excitement to terror, that moment when Logic accidently steps forward and gifts their host with the knowledge that he is going to fall. Those terrifying, heartbreaking seconds when Thomas is hurtling towards the ground and he knows it is going to hurt, Logic unable to help himself. Anxiety doesn’t hold that against Logic - he is only doing what he is supposed to do, he is fulfilling his purpose. It scared Thomas in that moment though and he hates that. The chemical reaction itself, not the chemical the triggered such emotions. At least Logic is doing his job properly, unlike Anxiety. 

The _sound_ Thomas’ arm makes as it connects against the table, that awful dull smack as it bounces off the edge. A second, heavier smack follows a moment later as his body connects with the ground, coming to a stop by the legs of the table. 

The complete contrast for the four of them, the absence of sound inside the mind as they all stand there in appalled silence. He feels frozen, limbs stiffened beyond anything he has ever felt before. Anxiety can’t move, can’t speak, he can’t even breathe as he stares out into the real world where Thomas is lying still - so still, oh god, he is so still, so still and Anxiety still can’t breathe, can’t pull in air he doesn’t really need but craves anyway. Not when his body is caught in such an icy, inescapable grip. He’s not dead. Anxiety knows he’s not dead because, well. They aren’t dead. But he could have really hurt himself, he could have brain damage for all they know. He has Creativity for a side, maybe he’s already got some form of brain damage. It’s a nasty thought of course, mean beyond his years but all that is left to him, is nasty thoughts, the only outlet he has left. 

Anxiety is going to be seeing all of this again and again. He knows this and he knows he shouldn’t add to his own pain by actively reviewing it. No good will come of brooding on all the tiny little moments, he shouldn't actively try and distill it down to every broken hearted moment. 

Then again, Creativity might be the newly crowned Prince of the mind, but Anxiety has always been the King of self torture. It is a crown that none of the others are ever going to be able to take from him - not that the others would ever want to, what do any of them know about crippling self doubt or painful feelings that just won't go away no matter how many breathing exercises he goes through, no matter what music he plays or distraction he tries to find for himself. 

The truth will always loop back around to face him in the end. There are so many moments he could have - should have - intervened, so many missed opportunities that will add to his many nightmares.

In some, small, sick way, Anxiety almost welcomes these intrusive thoughts. He deserves to be punished for what he allowed to happen here today.

In the real world, Thomas draws in a ragged breath. He screams. And then cries. Loud, gasping sobs that fill the room in a matter of moments. This agony isn't over yet, the aftermath promises its own brand of horrors, its own hideous slideshow, yet more stills to add to his photo album of punishment.

Awkwardly, Thomas tries to push himself into an upright position. He places weight on his arm, limb instantly folding up under him, another scream turned sob torn from his throat as a new wave of pain rushes through them. The arm tingles like a hundred nettles had been set alight and then rubbed all over his skin, burning and stinging every inch of exposed flesh. Tears splash down across his cheek and for a moment Anxiety thinks he can feel them on his own skin, pinpricks of hot water against the ice he has become. 

Somehow, the young boy manages to use his other arm to push himself into a slumped heap, at least mostly upright even if not standing. He is always so determined, so stubborn. Anxiety wonders which of the other three fuels that particular strength - he knows it isn’t him. Thomas sits hunched against the side of the table, his arm clutched to his chest as he just sobs, small frame physically shaking from the cries. 

It all happens in a matter of seconds. The leap, the fall, the stretch of stillness, the crumpled form on the floor. The cries. It all happens in the time it takes for four breaths in. So much, too much and Anxiety still can’t move.

Mom and Dad - his real Dad, his flesh and blood, living Dad, not the worried figment inside his mind - come rushing into the room. They don’t even bother to tell him off for what they must realise he had done. Instead they scoop him up in their arms, pressing light butterfly kisses up and down his arm as they carefully check him over for any more serious injuries. 

Warmth returns to Anxiety’s body, limbs sagging as the invisible chains seem to vanish with those little presses of love. Around him, the other sides move as well, little twitches as they stretch out and wake from their unwilling slumber. For another long, awful second, all is quiet within Thomas’ mind.

“Why did you make Thomas do that!” Anxiety shouts, breaking the tense atmosphere in one fell swoop. He turns his attention away from the scene of Thomas being comforted in order to focus properly on the fanciful side. “I knew he would fall if he tried that jump!”

“Why didn’t you stop me then!” Creativity demands, puffing his chest out. He looks like some ridiculous peacock, trying to either impress of overawe a rival, trying to make Anxiety back down and shut up. If he was just facing down Anxiety, then it would probably work. But he is facing down an Anxiety in full protective mode, an Anxiety that is trying to look after Thomas no matter what.

It's pointless to look after Thomas in this instance, it is already too late. 

Anxiety is pointless.

And in this moment, he can’t quite remember why he ever thought they could be friends. 

“Because I _pinkie promised_ ,” shrieks Anxiety and he no longer cares how his voice sounds, he is too worked up to be worried what the rest of him might think by the way his voice shifts and changes when in the grip of some powerful emotion. All he can think about is the promise and how he has failed in every way that mattered to Thomas. 

How dare Creativity try and turn this all around to blame him, how dare he try and make Anxiety the bad guy yet _again_.

“I thought I could trust you Creativity, I thought you would pick something a little safe at least!”

He can’t help but wonder who exactly he is trying to convince here. It was an accident of course, and Creativity would never actively seek to harm Thomas. It was just a game, a game gone horribly wrong, but the game itself isn’t that dangerous. He has to let Thomas play things like this, learn and grow if he ever wants him to become a good person and oh, he wants him to become the best. It isn’t Creativity’s fault, as much as Anxiety might wish it was. It would be simpler, easier, to blame him but he knows in his heart of hearts that it wouldn’t be fair. Creativity couldn’t have known this would happen, even as he encouraged Thomas to new and terrifying heights. 

It is his own fault and nobody else's, he knows this. He should have been able to predict this outcome, should have thought a few pieces of furniture ahead and realised that Creativity would have been unable to resist the temptation of suggesting the jump. He should have joined in the game instead, nudged Thomas towards safer leaps and still kept his promise that way.

He should have done so much more. Not that it would have been hard to do more than the complete nothing he had actually done. He should have put Thomas’ safety ahead of anything else, like he was supposed to.

“Then you shouldn’t have tried to steal Mrs Fluffybottom!” 

Creativity is still talking. Anxiety sees red at this point. He hadn’t done that, he hadn’t! He would never have tried to steal her, he certainly would never have damaged her. 

“Well you shouldn’t have used Thomas to try and make your stupid little point! I keep my promises! I didn’t do it! You should...” Anxiety deflates suddenly, the anger gone as rapidly as it had arrived as he was struck anew by how his perception of himself and how the rest of the sides see him do not measure up. He doesn't know them at all it seems and they certainly don't know him. Still, he cannot help but want to defend himself, want to see himself reflected better in their eyes. 

“You should know me better than this by now.” Anxiety is not going to cry. He is not going to give them the satisfaction. 

“Now, now Kiddos, lets settled down.” Morality lifts his hands in a placating gesture, moving forward to try and get between them and calm them both. He almost radiates soothing feelings, the physical embodiment of a comforting hug. It is so tempting to just crumple up and fall into those feelings, to let the presence of Dad just make everything better, even though it isn’t. 

“The important thing is Thomas wasn't badly hurt okay? He has a bump and bruise on his arm but we need to be thankful it wasn't anymore more serious.” 

Coldness runs through his veins as Morality speaks again, a jolt of ice that chases away any thoughts of giving into that tempting comfort.

“But it could have been worse!” Anxiety protests and it isn't fair that Dad is taking Creativity’s side. Just like he always does, always excusing his actions, always trying to deflect the blame, but they can't just ignore this. Sure, Thomas wasn't badly hurt by the fall, but that was just down to luck. Their host could have been seriously hurt or worse. He knows he shouldn't think like this, he knows he should just be grateful that the only injury was a knock to his arm. He should just be happy Thomas is otherwise okay and leave it at that.

All he can focus on however is the bad. It's always the bad for Anxiety. It’s what he does and nobody else seems to understand that. He can’t help his thoughts, he can’t help the worry that is always such a huge part of him. Do they think he wants to be like this? Always bringing up the negatives to anything they might suggest? Someone has to look out for Thomas, someone has to be the sensible one even if it meant having to shoulder all the bad thoughts, all the what ifs that circle them like hungry vultures.

It is so _exhausting_ being the literal embodiment of anxiety.

He tries to hold onto the thought that at least Thomas will learn from this. Creativity won’t of course, he will want to play the game again sooner or later and without someone around to keep an eye on him he will probably make the same suggestion again, confident that this time, they can overcome it. If he wasn’t such a complete moron, Anxiety would almost respect that. Luckily, he is not alone in wanting to make sure this never happens again at least. Logic will make sure Thomas understands the consequences of his actions, will lock the pain in as a natural progression from such a thoughtless action. Anxiety will make sure he never does anything that stupid again, will hold this memory close and bring it up to the surface whenever he worries Thomas might forget about it. 

Of course, sometimes, he will accidentally let one of those embarrassing memories out when he doesn’t mean to, let a random memory come into Thomas’s mind and torment him for ages. Anxiety never means for that to happen, not the unconnected, three in the morning, remember that time you peed your pants in front of everyone thoughts. At least it keeps the boy on his toes. 

All that is for later of course. When he isn’t too caught up in the immediate thoughts of what could have happened just now. 

“He could have broken his arm, he could have caught the edge of the table and there could have been blood everywhere! He could have smacked his head on the table, he could _have died_.”

“Oh don't be so dramatic, like that would have really happened,” Creativity huffs in apparent annoyance. Anxiety is too worked up right now to notice the slight hunch of the prince’s shoulders, or the way he can’t seem to quite meet his eye. If Anxiety wasn’t quite so caught up in his own pain and guilt he might have seen something he recognized in that pose, as though standing in front of a mirror, the pair of them more similar in this moment than he would ever know.

“While the possibility is indeed there, the odds of such an event occurring are slim to none.” Logic’s voice breaks in through the haze that is starting to wrap itself around his thoughts and he grasps for that voice eagerly, needing the cold, hard, facts. He needs to know that percentage wise, it was a slim chance, that the laws of avengers were against such a dreadful thing happening.

It could have still happened. But it didn’t. But everyday improbable, impossible things happened and people got hurt. But Thomas wasn’t hurt. But Thomas had hurt his arm. But it had been an innocent game. Facts proved that it hadn’t been an innocent game.

In for four. 

Hold for seven.

Out for eight.

Listen to Logic, he has to just listen to Logic and believe what he is saying, let him pull up graphs and figures and beat Anxiety’s fears back into the darkest reaches of Thomas’ mind where they couldn’t hurt anyone, not even Anxiety. For a little while at least, before something new happens and all his terrors burst forth once more. He just needs to listen. Logic isn’t always right of course but at least he understands how the world works in a way the other two don’t. The serious trait reaches up to adjust his glasses slightly, a nervous tic that would normally would make him roll his eyes a little. He would never find it endearing, no matter how many times a twitch of a smile threatens to break onto his lips. 

“I am confused, what promise are you speaking of? Surely if you had some serious concerns about the chosen course of action, then the best thing would have been to speak up?” 

There are no endearing thoughts now. Logic thought he had done wrong. Logic thought he should have broken his promise because of those slim, almost non existent odds that Thomas could have been badly hurt. 

_Should_ he have broken his promise? 

Anxiety can’t stay here any longer. He can’t listen to Creativity blame him, Dad defend the favoured son over the bad child or Logic pick apart his flaws with unrelenting detail.

He might say something else he regrets, any one of the poisonous thoughts swirling violently in his mind. Always the negative thoughts. Always the bad. All the anger was directed outward when some part of him knows, he should be aiming it inward. At the side that was really to blame for the accident - himself.

He growls, feeling something new in his voice, a deeper echo that twangs against his vocal cords.

Without another word, he turns and storms off, too caught up in controlling his own thoughts to even consider simply sinking down in his room. Perhaps the walk would do him good, give him a chance to cool down a little, to try and see things from the prince’s point of view. To let the molten hurt that is his heart harden into something stronger. 

Who is he kidding? He is just going to stew all the way back. Pride alone keeps him walking, refusing to give in to that growing temptation to sink out, to just get back to his room, to the safety and security of his bed. Changing his mind would only give Creativity more ammunition, more reason to think him wrong, that he couldn’t even leave correctly but had to change his mind part way through. Hands curl into fists inside the cuffs of his hoodie, the fabric feeling rough and worn under his touch. Just like everything else about him.

\--

He doesn’t know how long he wanders for. He doesn’t take the straight path back to his room and it is less about needing the air now and more about the worry that one of the others might see him if he is too obvious. They would have felt the shift in Thomas, would have been able to sense something has happened.

If they saw him, they would just want the story. Every gory detail would be mapped out for their pleasure and he can almost hear them as they dissected all the cries of pain Thomas had made, the grins that would curl up on cruel faces. The laughs that would ring out, harsher and colder and more painful than even the sound of Thomas hitting the ground. 

He would flip to fight in an instant if he has to deal with any of that and while the thought of giving one of them a bruised lip or black eye is tempting, he knows he wouldn’t win against more than one. More than that, he doesn’t know what effect it would have on Thomas if his sides started having a physical fight and today is not the day to find out, he can't add yet more turmoil to his host after everything that has happened.

So he walks. He doesn't know how long for. He walks and he walks until the soles of his feet burn, and then he walks some more. Skirting the edges of the more inhabited areas of Thomas’ mind, he walks as though he can somehow outwalk all the messy thoughts that are swirling around his mind.

“Anxiety! Oh Anxiety!” Morality calls out to him in a sing song tone of voice. He can’t help but respond to it, an involuntary tug on his heart and it's enough to make him stop and wait for the other side to reach him. Even after everything that happened, Dad still came after him and he can't help but hold onto that little piece of hope, no matter how much his mind hisses that he should be more careful, should keep his guard up.

Anxiety can't help but blink a little in confusion as the Dad persona appears in front of him, striding out of the mists that act as a border between the conscious and subconscious areas of the mind.

He could have sworn he had left Dad behind him in the upper areas of the mind. Perhaps he was just trying to make a dramatic entrance, the sort Creativity was always using. It’s not really Morality’s style, to be so dramatic and loud but then again, how well does he know any of them really?

“Yeah?” Anxiety can't meet Morality’s eyes as he responds, fingers nervously playing with the drawstrings of his hoodie. In front of him, Morality takes a deep breath, reaching out to place both his hands on Anxiety’s shoulders. The touch at once both settled and unsettled him, a myriad of emotions that leave him tense, hunching down further into his hoodie. The touch feels alien somehow, fingers digging into him almost harshly, as though gripping him in place.

To his surprise, despite his obvious discomfort, Morality doesn't let go. It's enough to make Anxiety lift his eyes to finally meet his face.

“Listen, Kiddo, I know you had made a promise but you have to be a little more careful. What's more important to you? Thomas’ safety... or honesty?”

Morality looks so concerned as he speaks, so intent on his words and making the other side understand. Anxiety swallows thickly at that, at knowing that Dad had thought so strongly on this subject that he had actually come all the way down here to talk to him about it.

It makes him want to cry, as much as he tells himself he will not, he will not give in to his worst emotions, he will not let anybody see that they have gotten to him like that. He will not let them win.

He had just never thought _Morality_ would be the one to make him want to sob so.

“I'm not angry Kiddo...” he trails off and inexplicably, Anxiety feels a sharp little pang of fear. He knows there is no reason to be afraid. This is Morality, this is Dad for goodness sake, he is the embodiment of everything that is good and pure about Thomas. Morality leans forward into his personal space and despite everything telling him not to, Anxiety can't help but try and lean backwards, as though the other side was suddenly a predator.

“I'm just _disappointed_ ,” Morality finishes with a hiss, a cruel edge to his words that sends Anxiety mentally reeling.

Dad isn't supposed to be cruel. 

Then again, he is the embodiment of _all_ of Thomas’ feelings - the bad along with the good. After the accident they all seem to need someone to blame and it looks as though for the first time in his life, he has actually won something. Ding ding, first prize goes to Anxiety and he wins being the villain, complete with all the heroes hating him.

Anxiety must have really messed up badly this time. Worst than anything that has gone before. He barely feels the loss of contact between them as Morality finally lets go of his shoulders, barely notices anything else going on, those few words stuck on a horrifying loop in his head. Just disappointed... disappointed... he had disappointed Dad. That was even worse than Creativity looking at him with such anger and he doesn't know why that one hurt so much. This is Dad though, and he failed dad.

A wild, desperate sob wants to tear free from his throat at that thought, a sound he swallows back down with great difficulty. He will not let them beat him.

“I think it's best you go to your room and think about what you did. Stay there until you have decided what is more important Kiddo. You are Anxiety, you’re supposed to be better than this.”

“Are you... are you _grounding_ me?” Anxiety asks in disbelief, for a moment forgetting even his hurt and pain as he stared at the other boy, mouth wide open in surprise. Could Morality even do that?

“Just for a little while,” Morality replies, defending himself. “Just until you realise what is most important. Wanting to be friends with Creativity, to the extent that you put Thomas at risk... Kiddo... I'm worried. It isn't like you to be reckless.”

Was that what he had been trying to do? Sure, he had wanted Creativity not to hate him, but was that the same as wanting to be friends? The other side drove him nuts most of the time, and there were days when he couldn’t even bare to be in the same room as him but looking back, he realises he had never stayed mad at him. He had never wanted to hurt Creativity and he would have done anything to protect him from the sight of a damaged Mrs Fluffybottom. But despite all that, gaining a new friend hadn’t been the point - but maybe, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, it had been a subconscious hoped for bonus.

This had all been, in its own way, to protect Thomas. Gambling his future against the present, thinking, hoping, that Creativity wouldn’t push it too far. If Thomas had made that jump, then none of this would have happened. They might still be talking together right now. If only. The world doesn’t run on ‘if only’. He wants to explain what really happened, wants to tell Dad about the night before, about how he had needed the toy Creativity owned, how he had managed to sneak into the real world, how he had learnt to take on Thomas’ pain as his own and yes it had hurt him to do so but his own pain was nothing if it meant keeping Thomas safe. He will do it again in a heartbeat if he can ever work up the courage.

Something stops him from telling Morality the truth though, a warning flickering in his mind. It makes no sense, he is sure Dad would be happy to know he was protecting Thomas in a way that didn’t bring him further pain, but the warning refuses to be ignored. This is a secret he needs to keep from everyone, including Morality. The side in question sighs lightly at the lack of response from Anxiety, even going so far as to shake his head in apparent disappointment before continuing on. 

“You have your own friends Anxiety. Maybe you should think about staying close to them for a while? Learn how to actually be a friend to them, chasing impossible dreams is not your thing. Leave that to fancy pants.”

Another wound in his already tender heart. He doesn’t know what hurts the most - that he is being such a bad friend to Deceit and Dad is calling him on it, or how he has just admitted that there is no chance he can ever be friends with the other main sides.

“You know Logic and Creativity don’t really have time for you. You’re different to them, and they know it. I’m sorry Kiddo you just... you just don’t belong with them. It will only led to you getting hurt and I don’t want that. You can’t be friends with them.”

“And... and you?” Anxiety hates how small his voice sounds, how vulnerable he is. It is as though his skin has been rubbed raw by every word Morality is saying, leaving him aching and exposed. Morality gives another little sigh and it's strange how it suddenly sounds condescending, harsh, instead of light and bubbly.

“You will always be my special little guy Anxiety but I have to think of the others too. I’m just... tired. Today has taken a lot out of me, having to watch you guys,” Morality tells him. He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath, his form seeming to flicker slightly for a moment in the dim light as though fading in and out of existence. It only lasts for a second or two, barely enough time for Anxiety to be sure of what he is seeing, and all he can think is he should be worried about that.

It leaves him cold.

Anxiety knows he should care that Dad is tired, he should offer to help, should make sure he gets back to his room. After all, he was still Dad. He said he still cared for him, that he was still special. But it came with conditions now, and he doesn't know what to make of that. He doesn't know how to care and maybe that makes him bad. Maybe that just means he is hurting and numb to it all. 

“And having to deal with all that crying, with Thomas,” Morality rolls his eyes as he speak, an expression of distaste crossing his features for a moment before the soft and friendly smile comes back, that same smile he always wears. It makes the next sentences hurt even more, when they are delivered with such a happy expression, the blade somehow striking deeper because of it.

“It can be exhausting sometimes, I'm sorry, I just don't have the extra energy to always deal with your antics on top of everyone else's. Go back to your real friends Anxiety.”

It wasn't hard to read between the lines, to see what Morality was too kind, even now, to actually say. That Anxiety was the least important to him, that he would always - _always_ \- put the others first. That Anxiety didn't matter as much and had to accept he would always been in last place. The others were his actual kids - not actual, actual, kids, but close. Closer than he was ever going to be it seems and he was an idiot to assume otherwise.

It hurts. Too much. Tears blur his vision now, Anxiety lacking the energy to stop them anymore. It's all too much, too much, _too much_. Hand lifts to his mouth, trying to muffle the gasping, heaving sob, and as it's _**too much**_ but he can't break down completely here. 

He needs to get back to his room - he's been grounded so he should go there anyway. He can fall apart completely there. He turns blindly, not bothering to say goodbye, shoulders heaving up and down. Morality doesn't say goodbye either or even scold him for his rudeness, and that hurts too, that he apparently can't find the energy to be a dad right now.

Anxiety doesn't look back as he goes. Which means he doesn't notice the way Morality’s smile shifts into something triumphant and cold. 

He’s changed his mind. He doesn't want to be friends with _any_ of the Light Sides. 

They all apparently hate him, fine.

He hates them back. Hates them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! The first fall from the story summery. At least it's gotta be only up from here right?


	6. Here come the drums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The handwriting on the page is messy, more than one sentence roughly crossed out, often with more pressure than is really needed. He scores through some ideas so hard the pen nib rips the page but eventually he settles on a workable plan."
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> The new and “improved” Anxiety through the years. Plus, Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, so I'm a day late. Ironically, I had a terrible migraine yesterday which is why this didn't get posted in time. But, I have some good news. This was originally going to be two chapters but thinking about it, I realised that would mean you guys got two chapters in a row which was basically filler, to get between plot points, and I didn't want to do that to you all. So I turned it into one, bumper length chapter instead. Enjoy some slightly angsty, rather nerdy story covering a couple of years. And I dunno if this needs a spoiler warning, but **spoilers** for the Harry Potter series. Just in case.
> 
> Next chapter will have some cute fluff, I promise.
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Voodoo Child_ by **Rogue Traders**.

****

### **Here come the drums**

**  
**

He doesn’t come out of his room for nearly six days.

The only one who comes to check on him is Deceit. Anxiety supposes he should have expected that but it still hurts to know how little they care. No matter how many times his head tries to tell his heart off, tries to beat it down into submission, some part of that pathetic, weak organ still beats. Every morning he wakes up and he finds himself hoping that maybe today, maybe just today one of the main sides will decide to come and see him. Hoping that maybe Dad hadn’t actually meant those things he had said. Hoping that he had just been really tired, and he will come and apologise. Hoping, hoping, hoping and getting nothing but pain for his troubles.

After a couple of days of useless hoping, he finds the dreams ripped and ruined around him, where even the smallest hope is proven false. The hope that they might at least notice he wasn't there and want him back, that they might not want to spend all their time with him but maybe they would at least realise they had hurt his feelings and say sorry.

Stupid, _foolish_ fantasies. Stupid, _foolish_ Anxiety forever allowing them to take root in his mind and grow. They only hurt him in the end.

He is glad the others he lives with don’t try and enter of course, gladder still that they don’t seem aware of his frantic searching in their rooms. Somehow, he doubts they would be happy to know he had entered their personal space without their knowledge or permission. But, it was like Deceit always says; what you don’t know, can’t hurt you. 

It hurt more now he knows for sure that the main three don't care about him at all, that they can get on just fine without him there. That they don’t even care he isn’t showing up anymore, and that hurts, that hurts, that _hurtshurtshur-_

That sends him spiraling down into a panic attack when he thinks of it too deeply, unwittingly dragging Thomas down with him. Anxiety doesn’t know how long he lies on the floor, franticing, heaving gasps of air, unable to actually drag in enough oxygen to calm himself. The world goes grey and patchy around the edges of his vision and even though Anxiety closes his eyes tight he can still see the way his reality is warping and bending. Coming undone at the seams. He doesn’t know how long his mind screams at him, the noise easily slipping into an indistinguishable mess of sound.

All he knows is the aftermath. All he knows is even after he did that to Thomas - after he hurt him _again_ \- that still it wasn’t enough for any of the three to come after him. Not that he wants them to come looking for him in anger, convinced that he had done that on purpose, that he was that kind of side. No matter how he personally feels, he would never willingly put Thomas through an attack - as though he has any real control over them, as though he does it on purpose.

To make matters even worse, Deceit barely visits, his friend apparently distracted by his own life, his own jobs outside the cocoon of misery Anxiety has constructed for himself.

Deceit seems to be keeping Thomas going while Anxiety is having his little freak out locked away in his room, managing to keep the boy upright if nothing else and he is grateful for that. Or, he will be grateful, when he can feel anything beyond the heavy, sick stone on his chest that is constantly weighing him down and keeping him from ever properly catching his breath. There are moments when the young side feels as though he might get completely crushed by the rocks on him.

On the few times Deceit does stop long enough to have a conversation, it is mostly about the three sides he wants to hear about the least. Questions about how Anxiety would react if one of them had said this, or done that. He doesn’t get what Deceit hopes to gain from such conversations, why he cares or how he thinks up such scenarios for Anxiety to react to. Maybe he is trying to get a reaction out of him, pull him up and out of the pit, get a response, any response.

It barely drags him out of his self pity, and he focuses enough to give his answers before a stay thought brings his mind wheeling back to the fact that Anxiety just wasn’t enough for Morality - or is it, he is too much? Either way, he is all _wrong_ and it makes him gag a little, lump growing in his throat at how very wrong he is and how he can’t fit in anywhere.

Once he gets his answers, Deceit leaves him again. Anxiety supposes it is no less than he deserves for how he’s behaved. This must be how Deceit felt, all those times he had snuck away to try and spend time with Logic or Creativity, all the times he had chosen to talk to Dad instead of playing with Deceit. All those moments he had run after the cool kids in the hope of being included and had managed to exclude his best friend in turn. He doesn’t know how the other side can so much as bear to look in his direction. 

He cries into his pillow for far longer than he will ever willingly admit to. 

In the end though, Anxiety knows he has to come back out. It isn’t fair on Deceit for one, to have him struggle with his own role and try and fill Anxiety’s shoes. It really isn’t fair on Thomas either, to leave him without a properly functioning anxiety. Deceit is doing his best, but it is up to him to protect Thomas. 

Gradually, the ragged edges of his heart curl inwards. The molten lava of hurt inside him starts to slow and harden, shifting bit by bit into a colder, stronger anger. A fury that is all the worse for how icy it is, how deep and cold and all consuming it actually is.

Not hate. As much as he wishes he could hate them, wishes it could be that simple. They hate him, so he hates them back and then nothing they say or do can hurt. Anxiety isn't lucky enough to hate them.

He is not going to let them beat him like this. He isn't going to let them win, isn't going to be pushed to a corner of the mind and forgotten about, some relic to gather dust as Thomas struggles on without him. He isn’t going to be ignored. So they don’t want to be his friends, well, Anxiety doesn’t need them to be his friends and his only mistake was thinking otherwise. The anger builds and builds in his chest, breaking down the heavy stone of pain and washing it all away.

The anxious trait uses that anger, fashioning armour for himself, encasing every vulnerable part of himself within. The anger also spurs Anxiety to finally leave his bed. He moves with renewed purpose, crossing the room to the neat desk. 

A couple of books are stacked on the left side, each one in pristine condition, covering basic space facts, covering the planets. He liked the one about the comets especially. They had been conjured up from the memories, from Thomas and his trips to the public library. Space calms him - and sometimes terrified him, with just how large, how vast and unknowing it was. He had been toying with the idea of showing the books to Logic, of trying to strike up a conversation with him if only he could gained the courage. Pointless now.

Teeth catch at his bottom lip as he stares at them. They seem to mock him, with how perfect they are, the spines uncracked, each page carefully turned and he had taken such good care of them, wanting them to look good just in case. Only the other day, before all of this, they had represented a subject he was interested in. 

Now they are just full of failed promises.

With a howl he lunges forward, hands clumsily knocking against the books, sending them crashing to the ground. The brief spark of violence makes him feel better for a moment and he even gains some dark satisfaction from the way they are bent and creased on the ground, pages messed up by their abrupt landing.

All too soon that feeling drains away, and only the anger is left, pushing him onward to settle at the desk and pull out a pen. Head is bowed low over the notebook as he sits hunched over it, legs kicking out against the air, every now and then the tip of his shoes scraping against the carpet as they swing back and forth. 

Anxiety knows he needs a different approach to - well everything. 

Trying to work with the rest of them clearly isn't working. 

The handwriting on the page is messy, more than one sentence roughly crossed out, often with more pressure than is really needed. He scores through some ideas so hard the pen nib rips the page but eventually he settles on a workable plan.

They want him to be the bad guy? Fine. He will be the bad guy.

\--

There are times when Virg- _Anxiety_ feels like a thief in the night. When he worries that he took a name that was not meant to be given to him in the first place and that he should give it back. He should accept that he is a Dark Side as Creativity has started calling them more and more, the insults turning more hateful now that Anxiety has given up trying to work with them. He should accept that the other three know best and leave them to it. 

They are threats to Thomas sometimes though, for all that they care for him. They are still all dangerous and Anxiety will not let himself forget that. He needs to keep a careful eye on them to make sure they don't hurt Thomas. Left to their own devices, they probably would and so it doesn't matter what they think he should do, what even the whispers in his mind think he should do, he will not abandon Thomas to their full control. He will not accept the limits Creativity tries to place on him, not when it will limits his ability to protect the one person he loves above all others. And he does love Thomas, despite the boy forgetting his name. He loves him with every scrap of his bruised and tender heart.

Sometimes Creativity needs to be stopped and Anxiety is more than ready these days, to take that fight on.

The Light Sides start to evolve as time continues marching on. They grow as Thomas grows, learning new things about the world and each other. 

He gets to watch that and he supposes he should be grateful for it. He gets to see history be made as the others find their names, find their purposes. Dad is still Dad of course, but he is Patton too now, their happy, peppy Patty.

Anxiety misses the talks they used to have but he can’t let himself think like that again. Trusting Dad had hurt too much last time, had enabled the parental side to get close enough to stab him in the heart and Anxiety at least learns from his mistakes. He ignores the confused looks he gets from Patton every time he rejects his attempts at a conversation or a movie or worse, a hug.

He also ignores the hurt looks when Anxiety makes a point of scraping the leftover food straight into the bin, ignoring the way it had been carefully wrapped in foil, or the post it note stuck to the top declaring it was for Anxiety. He never takes so much as a bite of those meals, sticking instead to what he can make himself and whatever packed snacks are lying around. 

He will not eat scraps of food, he will not take crusts and crumbs tossed from the high table of love. If he can't have the full meal - affection - freely, then he would rather starve than take such degrading terms. Let them think what they want, let them think he does it simply to hurt Patton. He can't tell them the truth, can't explain how he physically cannot eat the food, how every bite is like lead and he is forever choking on the lies the food represents, the horrible, terrible lie that Patton cares for him.

Eventually Patton stops leaving food out for him and well, that just proves that he was right to reject them in the first place. If he really considered Anxiety worthy, or his son like the other two, then he would never have given up.

Anxiety tells himself it's easier this way.

Logic becomes Teach, becomes Logan. He devotes more and more time to his studies, eagerly devouring every piece of new information that comes his way. There is always something new to discover and understand, and no matter how much they learn, the things that still are waiting to be uncovered far outweigh what they have learnt. It is an endless journey of discovery. Even Anxiety is fascinated by all the new facts they are constantly learning, but like Logan, he knows when enough has to become enough. 

If it wasn't for Anxiety carefully reining him in behind the scenes, then who knows how far Logan would have pushed Thomas in his pursuit of knowledge in those early years. Sleeping, eating, personal hygiene, they had all originally ranked lower in Logan’s estimations than the desire to learn new things. Anxiety knows they need those things more, and so he pushes when he has to, gets Thomas to cancel some study dates, keeps him in bed instead of getting up at four am for stargazing.

Logan tries to change Anxiety’s mind of course, tries facts, figures, all manner of statistics as to why they need to keep pushing forward no matter what his passing, biological needs might be. Once he even offers a private tutoring session, a chance for the two of them to really talk on any subject that Anxiety might desire, so they can get to know each other better. He seems willing to at least try and understand the other sides point of view.

Anxiety shuts that attempt down with a particularly cruel insult, one he internally hates himself a little for but the words are already out in the air and cannot be unsaid. The hurt look on Logan’s face haunts his nightmares for months afterwards. 

Unlike Creativity, Logan has never been outwardly cruel to him and it feels wrong to try and deliberately hurt him. He tries to tell himself that just because Logan has never said anything to his face, proves nothing. He probably insults Anxiety all the time when he isn’t around to hear it.

At least Logan knows better than to ask again. He learns even quicker than Anxiety, and understands the futility of pretending to care about him.

Soon enough, he even discovers the benefits of a proper sleep schedule and how keeping themselves at peak health only helps them in the long term. Logan becomes the one calling for a good night's sleep, for time set aside for taking care of themselves even over a chance at learning. Shame Thomas rarely listens to him in that regard and Anxiety grows less and less keen on sleep as years pass. There are far too many dangerous things lurking in the dark and the subconscious for him to feel comfortable with the concept of sleep during the night. In the end, they almost completely reverse their positions on sleep. 

He gets to see history be rewritten as well, his own role gradually erased. 

If given the chance, he is sure they would try and erase him completely.

Creativity is Roman now. But not only Roman. Prince Roman, Sir Royal pain in the backside, Roman. Prince dude. Or, as he likes to put it, Princey.

His idea he says. 

As though Anxiety had never been standing in the hallway, as though he had never shown his outfit to him first, as though Anxiety had never been the one to use the nickname for the first time.

Creativity - no, Princey now, Princey forever but not by his hand - mocks him for not having a name like the rest of them, for not being like the rest. That taunt digs deep, making him flinch, goosebumps on his skin leaving him acutely aware of every little sensation in the world around him. Anxiety bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he tastes blood at those insults, forcing down the words that want to rise up. He wants to scream, wants to shout his name out for everyone to hear, wants to yell how its special, how it's his and how he got it. The name is too precious to be tossed into the world in anger.

He is not going to give up his name to _Roman_ of all sides, just to try and make the words stop.

Especially when he knows the taunting wouldn't end. Princey would probably only laugh at it anyway and use it as an excuse to come up with ever more hurtful nicknames, all themed around his name. He would oh so casually demolish the most important night of Anxiety’s life and never know or believe where it had come from.

Because who would believe him if he told the truth? Thomas doesn't remember calling him Virgil, Thomas stares at him with fear and distrust in those large eyes and it's all he can do not to cry every time he is accidentally summoned. It goes without saying he's never called for on purpose.

He should accept that he has no right to the name Virgil. No claim upon it. No reason to love it as much as he does.

It's his name though. His. Thomas might not remember giving it to him, but that doesn't change the fact that it was given to him.

Thomas gets into the Harry Potter books shortly after the second one comes out, reading and rereading what little there is with an furious hunger. The world within those pages offers so much escape, so much delight and it doesn't matter how many times they read it, there is always something new to be enjoyed within, or something to be marvelled at afresh. Anxiety adores it.

Sometimes Anxiety feels like he is Dobby.

_Master gave Dobby a sock!_

It's not the same of course, and to compare Thomas to a Malfoy feels wrong on so many levels. There are so many more deserving characters Thomas is like, so many more he resembles. The loyalty of Ron is easy to love, and the bravery of Neville in standing up to his friends is one that strikes a chord within them both. He is not as good as Dobby of course, not as nobel or as self sacrificing as the house elf. He didn’t fight for his freedom, it was handed to him on a silver platter. It wasn’t even until it was gifted to him, that Anxiety even knew he wanted it. 

It is freedom though and that is something Anxiety clings to. 

The freedom of sometimes getting to be Virgil instead of just plain old Anxiety. He likes the times he lets himself be Virgil.

As for the migraines... well he is stealing those, no matter how he tries to dress it up as something different, something better. When pain rolls like heavy thunder around the mind, Virgil takes over, sneaking around the mind with the intent go protect. He creeps into Thomas’ room in the real world on the nights when he is suffering from those terrible migraine and pulls them into himself.

Every time it hurts. He had wondered if he would get used to them, if he could develop a tolerance towards the pain but it seems as though - unsurprisingly - he is not going to be that lucky. The pain varies all the time, both in severity and location. Sometimes, Anxiety wants to claw his own face off from the pain, wants to stretch out his neck to impossible angles because if he could just make the bones crack and pop, then whatever was pressing on his head will go away and the pain will stop. It never works of course, but the impulse remains.

Sometimes the pain comes with nausea and in those nights it is all he can do to make it back to his room, to crawl to the bathroom and spend the rest of the night alternating between throwing up from the sheer pain and just lying on the floor to let the cool tiles press against his feverish skin. 

He keeps on taking the headaches. Not every one, not every time. He knows Thomas needs to learn and grow and as much as it pains him, Anxiety knows he cannot protect him from everything in the world. Thomas needs to make mistakes and suffer a little bit of pain in order to do better, to be better. It hurts Anxiety to just sit back when there is something he could do but he has to protect in the long term too and taking every headache won't help.

He doesn’t take the small ones, the ones Thomas can work through on his one. The ones that his host can function while having. They barely shake the mind, and while Anxiety can always sense them, most of the others can’t. Logan or one of the others would have to be working with Thomas at the time to be able to pick those up. Anxiety always retreats to his room whenever a smaller headache appears, curling up under a multitude of weighted blankets as he fights off the impending anxiety attack. He cannot make it worse, but he hates that he leaves him suffering, no matter how right the reasons.

Anxiety has caused him so much pain, so often unneeded. Is it so wrong to want to take what he can away from him? To gift Thomas with this one, small thing. It might be stealing but is it wrong to take away something he knows Thomas doesn't want, something that is only hurting and hindering him?

Patton would know the answer of course, this kind of thing is what he was designed for after all but that would mean a conversation, that would mean admitting he has been manifesting himself in the real world and what if Patton doesn't approve? Worse, what if he tells Roman or Logan, what if he tries to stop him? 

He just can't take that risk.

\--

He and Deceit fight more.

It gets worse and worse as they grow older. 

Deceit swaps his superhero cape for an equally ridiculous shorter one

Anxiety sticks with his black hoodie.

The fights range from the petty to the serious, from not wanting Thomas to admit he had helped himself to a second cookie to wondering why they didn't like girls yet and if it was okay to talk to someone about that. They dance across every aspect of Thomas’ life but more often than not they circle back to Anxiety’s innate wrongness, his capacity to just hurt everyone who had tried to help him. How his refusal to completely accept his role as a Dark Side is the sole reason why they fight, the only reason why he gets hurt in turn. How everything would be just easier if he listened now and then instead of stubbornly believing he was right to the point of arrogance. How Anxiety is a freak of the mind.

Deceit has always known where to hit him where it hurts.

Self doubt constantly presses against him, hundreds of tiny flea bites wearing him down and he doesn’t understand how Deceit sees arrogance in his actions. He is stubborn, Anxiety knows that. Holding fast to his chosen course but he can never seem to convince himself completely that he is doing the right thing. The urge to seek out approval, reassurance, is always lurking in the back of his mind, a constant desire to know he was doing okay clashing with the standoffish personality he has. There is nobody left for him to ask, nobody he can turn to because he has managed to push them all away first. It’s no wonder he can rarely change Deceit’s mind on what they should do, when he can’t even convince himself it's the best idea. 

He has his own room upstairs now despite pulling away from the main sides, to go with the one downstairs. Its yet another example of how he doesn't quite fit in anywhere. Another example of how he is broken but no matter how he tries, he doesn't belong anywhere. He doesn't like the others, he doesn't like living with them. Doesn't like how he has to spend time watching his own back around them, time he should be spending on making sure Thomas was okay.

He doesn't like anyone in the mind. Expect Deceit obviously.

He likes Deceit. Of course he does.

(Doesn't he?)

Anxiety has taken to staying upstairs for longer and longer, simply hiding in the new room that has been fashioned for him. It’s a safe place to hide in after a fight with Deceit, a good place for him to try and block out the world, and eventually, to work out how he is going to apologise to the other side. It's always Anxiety who crumbles first, who says sorry, who tries to make it up to his friend. He apologises and eventually Deceit believes he means it. Then things return to a peaceful - if delicate - truce, and they might even hang out like when they were younger. Right up until the next time they fight and Anxiety retreats to his room upstairs for some peace. Deceit always really hates it when he goes up there, always claims he does it on purpose, solely to hurt him. He knows that Deceit struggles to go there, that it can hurt the yellow eyed side to enter those areas of the mind. He knows that Deceit worries about him when he is there, worries that one of the main sides might hurt him further without Deceit on hand to defend him.

Still, he finds himself scurrying to that room, hiding himself away in it. As though it is worth running the risk of bumping into one of the mains on his way into the room if it means he can escape for a little while from the fight he had just had. Flight always follows Fight.

If nothing else, he knows Roman and the rest will at least respect the locked door. Perhaps it is less respect and more disinterest, a thought that stings a little whenever he considers it, but still, he knows he can shut the rest of the mind out, curl up in his bed and let himself be weak without anyone judging him for it.

Deceit... Deceit never respects a locked door or the fact Anxiety sometimes wants to be alone.

Deceit never really apologises either, now that he thinks about it. Not in a way Anxiety believes is the truth, but calling him out on a potential lie just leads to another fight, to a hurt Deceit and Anxiety feeling as though he has to apologise for doubting him. Even though he’s the liar. But then they are all more now than the mere functions they represent. He has to believe he is more than the feeling of anxiety.

\--

He and Roman fight more.

It gets worse and worse as they grow older.

The fights they have are at once so different and yet so similar to the ones with Deceit.

They constantly argue about different the approaches they have in how to look after Thomas - although Roman refuses to even entertain the idea that Anxiety is trying to do the right thing for their host, refuses to believe that he is anything other than a villian. Constantly looking to destroy instead of build. Anxiety just wants to protect what they already have, instead of risking it with the hope of gaining more. Roman insults him a lot of the time during their fights - and increasingly, whenever he so much as sees him, and they are creative if nothing else. Roman call him mean, dark, depressing... but never wrong, never in the way Deceit means. Wrong with what he wants but never wrong in of himself. Never broken in the way fights with Deceit leave him feeling broken. 

Right up until the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince fight.

Roman compares him to Snape, a sinister figure which isn't new.

He then accuses him of probably enjoying the moment Dumbledore had been killed by Snape, how he had probably been delighted when evil had seemed to triumph over good.

That is new.

Thomas had been reading the latest Harry Potter of course, he had been waiting in line at the bookstore before it had opened in order to pick up his copy of the novel. He had pretty much run all the way home, the book clutched tightly in his hands, so excited to read the newest adventure. Anxiety can still remember the sweet smell of new book when he had opened it for the first time and turned that title page over. Thomas is enchanted by the stories still and that strong rush of love that rushes through the mind makes even Anxiety smile. 

The last thing he needs while reading is a surge of anxiety about what might happen next or how they could possibly defeat You Know Who, or what they were going to do once the series had ended and there was nothing new to look forward to.

That was the type of worry for five in the morning, when they had nothing better to do but lie awake and ponder some of the deeper mysteries of the world.

So Anxiety had deliberately taken a step back, as he had done since the fourth book. Closed himself off from the images of the story and conjured himself a copy for when Thomas was done and he could safely read it. He hadn't gotten around to actually finishing it himself yet, always distracted by some crisis in Thomas’ life whenever he got a chapter or two into it at a time. Keeping Thomas from doing something stupid like making sure he remembered to lock his door if his parents were out or put his clothes on the right way out was always going to be more important to Anxiety than his own personal interests, no matter how desperate he was to know what happened next to Harry and his friends. 

“Did... did you just spoil the end of the book for me?” For a moment, he even forgets to be angry at Roman, too shocked by the news.

Dumbledore... _dies_? But. But he was the one who knew everything! He was the strongest wizard in the whole world, he was the only one You Know Who was even afraid of and he dies? Anxiety had known he was in danger of course, after the meeting with Snape near the start of the book but he had never suspected that they would actually lose Dumbledore. That the bad guys would actually win such a major victory had never even crossed Anxiety’s mind.

Not even he, with his doom and gloom attitude and the belief that nothing they did would ever make a real difference to the world, had thought Dumbledore would actually die. Books were supposed to be escapes from the pressures of the real world, they were supposed to be flights of fantasy. Sure there had to be danger, had to be peril of a sort because otherwise how could the victory be sweet if there was nothing for them to struggle against? 

He’d even held out hold that maybe Snape wasn’t so evil after all. Not because he particularly liked the guy - his favorites were Neville, Lupin, Tonks and Hedwig. Bellatrix was his favorite villian if he had to pick one. No, Anxiety had hoped that Snape wasn't the bad guy Harry thought he was because if Snape could be redeemed, then so could anyone. 

It’s only hearing that Snape commits murder that Anxiety realises how badly he has been pinning his hopes on the dark haired wizard becoming a good guy. Only now that he realises how badly it hurts to be compared time after time to someone so wicked, who was beyond all hope of turning to the light side, to be accepted.

(A few years later when the final book comes out and he will wonder if he is cursed, when all but one of his favourite characters die. He will frett that he doomed them by liking them in the first place as though that is a power he possess. Every death will make him shake and quiver, having to clamp down on his reactions and hide them as best he can. He’s learnt better by this point. He will also completely revise his views on Dumbledore being a good guy. Snape is another matter, still hovering in some strange limbo that Anxiety understands all too well. Even though he can’t bring himself to actually like Snape, he sees too much of himself in the character to be able to dismiss him easily from his mind.

But all that comes later, long after Roman seems to forget this argument, long after the mistakes that follow.)

Roman falters slightly, before pressing on his attack, trying to make his point still and Anxiety knows he should be arguing back. He can't even remember what they were fighting about and his head is still ringing with the knowledge that Dumbledore is dead, Dumbledore is dead, Dumbledore is dead.

Anxiety doesn't even realise he is crying until Roman stops talking to gape at him. Only then, does he become aware of hot tears splashing down his features, Anxiety roughly lifting a hand to rub at his eyes, trying angrily to wipe them away. They fall as fast as he gets rid of them and he knows he should be more upset because he is crying in front of Roman, showing weakness, the one thing he has promised to himself he would never do. But it's hard to focus on anything else right now when all he can do is focus on the fact that one of the main heroes is dead and the news had been tossed at him so casually, knocking all the air out of him.

Though his blurred vision, he sees Roman lift a hand to run it through his hair, apparently growing agitated himself. Strangely, it just makes Anxiety sob harder, the anxious side hunching further in on himself. He doesn’t know if he is even crying because of Dumbledore anymore, or if his tears are aimed solely at himself now. At knowing nobody cares that he is crying. Nobody actually cares about him and even though it is not new news, it still hurts, still manages to slip in through a chink in his armour and straight to his still tender heart. Still soft and raw, even after all these years, all the attempts to cover himself completely.

He senses, more than actually sees Roman start to reach out for him. Tears are flowing too thickly to be able to make out any details, to tell if Roman’s hand is open or shut. A gesture of comfort or the fist. Logically, Anxiety knows, it can only be the latter. Why would he chose now, of all moments, to be kind? He is feeling too fragile, to worn at the edges to be able to withstand a clash between them if it turns physical.

Fight. He lashes out, pushing against Roman’s chest with a wild cry, more akin to a heaving, desperate sob than a war cry of intent. Roman stumbles backwards and that is all the distance Anxiety needs to move, to swap to flight and get out of this situation. He runs, almost crashing into the wall in his haste to get away, to try and outrun the voices screaming louder and louder instead his own mind.

Perhaps, he thinks he hears Roman calling after him, for once simply using his name, Anxiety, instead of any insult. If that is real, he ignores it. 

Door rattles violently against the hinges as he slams it shut behind him, Anxiety collapsing to the ground just inside. He screams, all the pain and confusion and misery curling up into a messy ball inside his chest. Every negative emotion is pushed outward without conscious thought, unable to deal with it all right now.

That is the first night he creates a migraine for Thomas and although he sneaks into his room a few hours later to steal the pain back, he can’t shake the guilt that comes with knowing he had created the problem in the first place. At knowing he was so weak he avoided his duties. Never again. The migraine is one of the worse Thomas has ever suffered, some small, numb part of him noting how effective his powers are, how badly he can hurt if he so desires. It’s another thing to add to the list of reasons why he hates himself.

Roman never brings up that fight again, seems to forget it almost instantly. Anxiety wishes it was that simple for him.

\--

Deceit finds out of course. 

He knows everyone's secrets and no matter how hard Anxiety tries, he slips up eventually. He should have known better than to think that he could hide something like this from the other side. Deceit was all but born to hoard secrets, to be the proverbial dragon in the mind. He has a talent for picking up tiny little details, on realising when someone was trying to hide something and relentlessly ferreting whatever it was. And Anxiety has secrets galore.

Deceit finds out about the headaches which is bad enough. He finds out about Virgil though and that is even worse. 

At least he doesn't know that the name was a forgotten gift from Thomas.

Or maybe he does. With Deceit it's impossible to tell.

“Hello _Virgil_.” The greeting is as cold as ice, sending a shiver of fear down his spine as he jumps up from his bed to face his friend, the other side having appeared suddenly in the middle of his room. He wasn't ready for this conversation - in the back of his mind, he knows he will never be ready for it. The sound of someone else saying his name makes him feel almost dizzy, a sudden burst of vertigo that leaves him shaking.

“De-deceit? Why... why are you mad?” Anxiety asks carefully. He knows the warning signs by now, knows how carefully he has to tread around his friend when the other side is in this kind of mood. First up, he has to work out what it is that has set him off - is it the headaches? Or just the simple fact that Anxiety had thought to keep something from him? He can’t fix it until he knows what the problem is. Deceit gives a short little laugh, the sound making him even more uncomfortable. This is very bad.

“Mad? You think I'm angry? Ah, sweet, kind Virgil, I'm not angry. I don't care. I don't mind you acting all high and mighty. You think you're better than me don't you Virgil. Think you are so special because you have a stupid name. Special little Anxiety, that does so much good for Thomas. He must thank you all the time, am I right Virgil?” 

It's like a bombardment of emotions, his name exploding across his skin rubbing it raw in a matter of seconds. Nobody else has ever said his name before and now it is all too much, too many repetitions in such a short space of time. He scrambles desperately for an answer, any answer to Deceits words. He feels almost unhinged by the use of his name and it stops him from even panicking. It is as though he is detached from the moment, unable to react as he wants or Deceit seems to hope.

“I’m not....I don’t think I’m better. I just... I just have a name.” Anxiety admits after a moment, knowing just how lame that sounds. He can’t help the little swell of righteous anger that blossoms up in him in turn and despite knowing it won’t last, he can’t help but use it to keep his voice steady, almost unnaturally even. Not a hint of emotion colours his words. “It’s not like it changes anything Deceit, come on. I’m still me.”

There is silence for a moment, Deceit staring at him without any expression. Time seems to stretch on, that one second lasting an eternity, pulling him further and further away from what he knows. The second finally breaks with a sharp bark of a laugh from Deceit.

“You,” he sneers, hand waving in Anxiety’s direction in disgust. “Still you. And what are you anyway? Precious, know it all, special, Virgil. Oh please. It's not like I'm afraid you will forget about me and I’m sure you won’t change because you think yourself special, I just don't see why you have to pretend to be better than me.”

It’s not about being better.

Anxiety isn’t sure what it is about, but he knows he’s no better than Deceit. Just... different. And different means bad, means wrong. He knows this too.

The use of his name still leaves him defenseless, in shock almost. He cannot fight and yet cannot run either. Cannot seem to show any outward emotion, and that appears to throw Deceit off better than any argument could possibly do. The scaly skinned side lives off reactions, needs them in order to do his own job. Anxiety is a side of emotion as well as facts and to get nothing from him seems to leave Deceit at a loss, unable to carry on a fight without some passion from him. He paces up and down the room a few times, Anxiety simply standing there, watching him without blinking. Without feeding into him and he had never realised this was an effective tactic. He’s never won a proper fight with Deceit and any other moment he might feel pride at standing his ground, in not letting Deceit get to him.

But he knows the truth even in his numb state. He knows Deceit has gotten deeper than ever before and he just can’t feel the blow yet, that not even Deceit knows how badly he is wounded by his name used so freely. The other implications of Deceit’s spit words do not even penetrate, he has heard it all before. He is not special, not kind, not leaving his friend behind. He is dying in this moment and nobody even notices. Not even his killer, Deceit making a final pass of his room before grinding his teeth together in frustration and heading for the door. 

“Virgil, what kind of a stupid name is Virgil anyway?” With a final sneer and passing jab, Deceit sweeps out of the bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him. Not for the first time, he can't help but bitterly think on the way his friend always knows the pressure points to cause maximum pain. Tears flow long after his friend has gone, heaving gasps of air as though breaking through some deep waters to find the surface after so long. He had forgotten what it had sounded like, hearing his name spoken aloud.

Anxiety guards his name closer after that. Destroys all traces of it in his room, anywhere he was foolish enough to write it down, any hint of so much as a V is ruthlessly removed from both rooms. It is only when he tries to remove them, that he realises just how many times he has written it, how careless he had been. There are so many hints scattered across his living spaces for anyone to walk in and find. Writing it out made it seem more real, made it feel as if it was really his but he can’t afford to leave any physical trace behind. What if one of the others gets it? It’s bad enough that Deceit knows, but at least he will keep it a secret. Not only because he wants to protect him, but because knowledge is also power and he loves having something he knows and nobody else does.

He hides away Virgil from everyone.

It's only in the early hours of the morning he dares to so much as whisper the name aloud, lets himself bring it out of hiding from where it was wrapped tightly around his heart. A place nobody would ever think to look, because who would ever think Anxiety even had a heart. 

He speaks it into the dark, a hushed, almost nonexistent whisper. As though someone else might hear and snatch it out of his mouth. He says it over and over again in those dark hours, repeating it to reassure himself that it's real. It is his name and nobody is taking that away. 

Maybe he is a thief. He might be a Dark Side, something rotten and evil to the core. Maybe he really has nothing to offer but bad advice and sneaking into Thomas’ room in the early hours of the morning and taking his pain away as his own.

Maybe he is every nasty insult Roman has ever thrown at him.

He is still Virgil. And he is going to protect Thomas, no matter what. Even if Thomas hates him for it. Even if nobody ever realises that is what he is doing, even if nobody ever thanks him for keeping Thomas alive. He is going to make sure Thomas is safe and happy and it doesn’t matter what other side gets in the way of that. It could be Deceit, it could be Roman, it could be Patton or Logan. He will not let any one of them stand between him and what he knows to be right.

Virgil has seen Thomas smile, he has seen how wonderful that is. Virgil understands things that Anxiety could never hope to grasp.

Anxiety hasn't seen Thomas smile. Anxiety will be the bad guy, will play the role laid out for him and let them think whatever they want to. He doesn't have the time or energy to try and convince them otherwise, not when he could spend that precious energy in protecting Thomas.

Anxiety will be the one everyone knows.

And Virgil? Virgil is just for him, Virgil is when the mask grows too heavy for him to keep pressed against his face. Virgil is when the days turn dark and he is too tired to remember what he has chosen to be - Virgil has no illusions about his fate, he knows Patton and the rest pushed him to the edge but in the end it was Virgil who decided to jump off the cliff. He made himself a villain, he will not be a victim, not even as an excuse for his actions.

Virgil is when the doors are locked against everyone, when he can curl in a ball and cry and pull out faded memories to keep himself going.

Nobody else can ever know about Virgil.


	7. You let your face grow long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He reaches out mentally, searching for the link between himself and his host, for the trail of pain that will lead him right to the headache - and frowns, forehead creasing in confusion. Thomas... isn't in pain. What?"
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Virgil learns a new trick and that not all contact with the main sides is bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are just amazing, I don't say it enough, all your comments and kudos just mean the world to me, thank you to everyone who reads, and everyone who leaves me something, it really inspires me to keep going. 
> 
> Who is ready for some angsty cuteness and actual plot? I know I am! 
> 
> Chapter title is from _I am the Walrus_ by **The Beatles.**

****

### **You let your face grow long**

**  
**

It isn't until years later that he learns he can take pain from the other sides as well.

He has gotten good at removing headaches from Thomas and taking on the pain himself. So much so that he doesn't need to even to manifest himself in the real world to do it anymore, he can just sit on his bed, close his eyes and focus, feel the pain and claim it as his own. It's safer this way, no chance of running into a side or disrupting something in the real world. He doesn't even have to wait for Thomas to fall asleep any more. It is simplicity itself to reach out and slowly draw the pain to himself while his host is awake, to shift it subtly until Thomas realises with surprise the pain has gone. The downside of course is the strong belief that creates in Thomas as to the wonders of painkillers. He doesn't think Thomas should be that reliant on modern medicine, not with all the horror stories there are out there. Even the most basic of pain medication can kill or cause all manner of terrible life threatening conditions that could permanently alter his quality of life.

Absently, he makes a mental note to look into some of those conspiracies at a later date and get Thomas to read them too.

He misses it of course. The sights, the smells of reality, everything just a little bit... a little bit... well, for want of a better word, a little bit more _real_. Virgil can even pretend he is something approaching a real boy when he is out there. He gets to see Thomas too and that is treasured. It is yet another thing he must sacrifice, and Virgil forces himself to do so. He can't let Thomas suffer for so many extra hours just because he wants to see him sleep. That's just creepy.

When the familiar coils of pain start to weave themselves through the mind, Virgil doesn't think anything of it. He slips silently through the mind to his room upstairs, locking the door firmly behind him. It wouldn't do to get distracted by the migraine he has stolen, only to have Deceit or one of the others come wandering in. Virgil may be used to the pain but that doesn't mean he can cope any better with it; it still leaves him breathless and broken. There is no way he is going to let anyone see him that weak, who knows what they would do.

With a soft sigh, he makes himself comfortable on the bed, pushing the blankets and pillows around to create a nest he can burrow into. This is going to hurt either way, so he may as well try and limit the damage as best he can. More and more of his belongings have found their way into his second bedroom to the extent that his original one feels almost like a guest room at times. He’s a little afraid of what Deceit is going to do the next time he pops up unannounced and sees how empty his room has become.

No, he’s a lot afraid. 

Virgil isn't willing to go and take stuff back down though, not even to keep the peace between the two of them. His things just look better somehow, in this room. Items are arranged differently, a hint of colour creeping into his belongings and there is a sense of peace in this room that Virgil has never been able to recreate in the one below.

It feels like a rebellion, to keep his belongings here. Something stirs in him at that, something small and dark but not necessarily bad. Different. Different means bad most of the time, means wrong but he has to believe it's not the case here. If he keeps telling himself, over and over, that it is no crime to have his favorite weighted blanket in this room, or to take his posters off the walls downstairs to put them up here instead, then he might eventually believe it.

Worrying about Deceit isn't going to solve his current problem though. It's just another thing for the early hours of the morning. Maybe Virgil will even be lucky for once and the headache will crowd out any other thoughts and eventually let him drop off. It won't be a good night's sleep by any stretch of the imagination but it will be sleep and that is rare enough. 

He reaches out mentally, searching for the link between himself and his host, for the trail of pain that will lead him right to the headache - and frowns, forehead creasing in confusion. Thomas... isn't in pain. What?

Virgil can sense the pain. He can almost taste it in the air around him, and he knows enough of pain to recognize a headache when he senses one. It’s a bad one at that, something that easily has the potential to become a migraine if it's left untreated. But he brushes against Thomas and there is no trace of a headache there. A hint of worry, concern, colours the connection between them, his own anxieties crowding in and he can feel himself infecting the mood. With a small gasp, he closes the connection between them. It hurts a little, to put that ice in place around him but he’s been too loud, has drawn Thomas’ attention and if Thomas isn’t the one suffering then he can’t afford to have him thinking too hard on his worries in case it triggers one. 

He needs to work out where this headache is.

It’s not coming from Thomas, not directly at least. Which means... one of the other sides is suffering instead. The pain has gotten worse since he moved upstairs, which would point to one of the main three suffering. He’s known, in an abstract fashion, that the rest of the sides can feel pain of course, he’s seen Deceit hurting - and denying it hurt - in the past. He just hadn't realised they could suffer from something like a headache in their own right. 

Virgil knows he should just leave it. It’s none of his business if someone else is in pain and he knows they wouldn’t help him if the situation was reversed. They probably wouldn't even let him near them, let alone allow him to help. It isn't Thomas and so he should just leave it alone. Turn his face to the wall and try and get some sleep before a new day dawns and he is faced with a whole host of new challenges. Who knows what is going to happen tomorrow? Thomas could face all kinds of trials and he will need his anxiety on full alert to deal with them.

Still. He can’t help but be curious. Too curious in the end, gracefully uncoiling himself from his position on the bed to stretch. Joints pop as he stretched them out, trying to loosen himself up as much as possible. A softer, more pleased sigh slips from his lips as aching muscles find a little relief. Thomas really needs to learn yoga or something, and in the privacy of his room, Virgil goes so far as to give a soft little snigger at the mental image of Deceit bent in a ridiculous pose, his hat on the floor, cape falling over his face. Or Roman, his stupid sash almost throttling him around the neck.

It’s the type of humor he knows he can never allow himself in public. There is an expectation in the air when it comes to Anxiety, a role he knows he needs to perform. The idea that he can laugh at anything, could picture something silly and find humour in it, is alien to the personality he has created for the rest to know. 

So it feels good to allow himself these moments now and then. To just be Virgil, whoever that actually is. He tries to make sure he has a moment of happiness, no matter how small, before each and every headache. It helps to remind him why he does what he does, and ties together the pain with something more positive. Virgil doesn’t realise it, but the choice to help has been made by the time he allows himself his little ritual, parceled out another positive moment out of his rationed supply. 

Carefully, he eases the door to his room open a few inches, slipping out through the narrow gap offered. Virgil has long ago learnt how to move silently. It fits in perfectly with his ability to simply appear instead of rising up. As though he needs any more examples of how he doesn’t fit. Right now, he is grateful for his quiet footsteps, creeping along the hallway and down a couple of stairs. 

The common room is below him. Roman and Patton sit on the sofa, Roman telling some grand tale, the occasional word drifting up to him whenever the Prince gets too excited. Patton nods now and then, occasionally asking a question as he listens intently to the tale. Logan is settled on the single seat, a book held between his hands. At first, it appears he is ignoring the other two, focused on his book instead but it doesn't take the nervous trait long to realise Logan is just as caught up in the tale as Patton. He hasn't turned a single page for as long as Virgil has been watching and he knows how fast Logan can read.

Virgil would never admit it, but some part of him longs to be able to sit there with them and let himself be spellbound by the story too.

He watches the three of them through the gaps in the banister, studying each of them carefully. At first glance, nothing seems wrong with any of them. A less paranoid side might even take what he sees at face value and just ignore what he knows in his heart to be true.

He doesn't know any of them well enough to be able to tell when they are covering something up but then he doesn't need to know the person, to know the pain. Virgil knows almost all the tells of someone suffering from a headache. Gaze sharpens and fixes on Patton. 

He can see the headache in every tiny flinch when Roman is to loud - always too loud, too bright, too everything. He can hear it in the slight pauses before Patton speaks, the subtle intake of breath as though he has to fight through the fog around his mind just to form words. He can see the smile become more and more frozen in each passing second. It's a really bad one, Virgil is convinced of it. The type that is probably going to end with Morality - or him, let's be honest him - crying into the toilet before he empties what little is left in his stomach into it.

Now that he knows it is Patton suffering, Virgil can’t turn away. 

Out of everyone, why did it have to be Dad? As much as Patton has hurt him over the years, he has never wanted the paternal side to suffer in turn. Virgil isn't stupid of course, he knows that many of his actions would have caused Patton pain. All the many rejections would have hurt and perhaps at the time, when he was an angry teen, he might even have reveled in the idea that he was hurting someone who had hurt him. 

Perhaps not. He doesn't like causing pain, for all that it is his purpose in life.

Guilt settles heavily in his stomach as though he has eaten one of Patton’s homemade meals. 

He can't leave Patton hurting. He _won't_ leave him in pain. As silently as before, Virgil moves away from the stairs, appearing in the kitchen area instead. He lurks near the corner, out of sight of the others but close enough to be able hear what is going on. All Virgil has to do now is wait for Patton to be alone. It sounds easy but it means while he waits he has to hear everything he is missing out on. Even worse - and he refuses to allow such self pitying thoughts to cloud his mind for too long - it means he has to listen to Patton suffering while the other two are oblivious. Clueless morons, the lot of them.

He wants to march in there and shake Roman by the shoulders, make him actually _look_ at Patton and see the pain. He wants the fanciful side to actually pay attention to something other than his own inflated ego for once. Virgil also isn’t a complete fool; he knows that on the whole, Roman means well. That for all his bluster, there is no doubt that he loves Thomas and Patton and Logan. Loves the important ones. If he was aware that Patton was in pain, Roman would move heaven and earth if he could to try and make it better. And there was the problem. He wasn’t aware.

Logan is just as oblivious, the urge to shake him just as strong. How Logan can just sit there, mere feet away from Patton and not pick up on any of the signals is beyond him. Sure, its feelings. But its physical feelings, it has a pattern, it has a cause and effect cycle. If any of them should have been able to notice the signs and follow the logical conclusion to them, it should have been the logical side. A small voice in the back of his mind points out it is unfair to judge them all so harshly, when it is his role to be the protector, to watch out for them all. It is up to him to notice things like someone suffering, not the others. And Patton is good at hiding his pain. A little too good and it makes Virgil wonder what else he manages to hide away from all of them, what even he hasn’t noticed.

Time ticks by, agonizingly slowly. First Logan, and then Roman finally depart, Virgil shrinking further into the shadows in order to be unnoticed by either of them. A fight is the last thing Patton’s head is going to be able to cope with right now. Now it is just the two of them. The lights in the common room dim, and Virgil absently lowers the temperature a few degrees. It won’t do much but it will hopefully ease the fire that has to be coursing through Patton. Without anyone else apparently around it is easier to see the pain, the way his body crumples a little in to itself without anyone there to watch him. A frown of pain creases its way onto his forehead, his eyes closing. In a matter of moments, he looks like a completely different side. Patton hides far too much of himself away it seems.

Virgil still envies Patton’s ability to be happy. He knows the moral side isn’t happy all of the time, because Deceit always knows when the smiles shift into something fake and painful, but Patton is still so full of joy the rest of the time, always looking to find the best in every situation, no matter what. Happiness is not stupidity. He thinks it is possibly the bravest thing he has ever known. To keep smiling while the world bleeds, to try and add a little joy to every situation no matter how much it hurts you... it's brave. Far braver than Virgil is ever going to be. The thought of bravery spurs him on and he has to help another side for once.

“Morality.” Virgil speaks suddenly, stepping out from the shadows he has been lurking in, and fully into the light. It feels odd, to be in the common room when someone else is there, to see it in dim light. He's used to passing through it in near darkness, with only the light from his phone to guide him.

He doesn’t call him Patton. Or... the other name. He can’t use either of those names, neither sound right in his head if he plans to actually say them and he knows they would just be awkward and unwieldy on his tongue. Patton flinches a little at the sound of his voice and Virgil tries not to take it personally. It's the headache, he _knows_ it's the headache.

_What if it's not just the headache though? What if it's you?_

“Oh... hey Anxiety, whats up?” Patton’s voice is almost as cheerful as ever, the other side instantly straightening back up and trying to appear normal. He even manages a bright smile and for a moment at least, he looks the same cheerful chap he always tries to be.

Virgil grits his teeth together, swallowing down the urge to just believe that smile and not push any further. He can do this.

_This is a stupid idea. Leave while you can! Just walk away, they are used to your behaviour by now. He might find it odd but it isn't like you have any kind of relationship to destroy._

He is tempted to listen to that cowardly little voice whispering in the back of his mind. To turn tail and run.

“Come with me,” he demands instead, voice a little rougher than normal. Patton blinks owlishly at him for a couple of seconds behind his glasses, smile slipping a little as he stares at him. Virgil flushes a little, wishing he had thought to pull his hood up to hide his face. This is a terrible idea.

What must that sentence sound like? A demand that the dad of the group just blindly follow him without any kind of hint as to the why or where. Roman would no doubt see treachery in the actions, possibly an attempted kidnapping. Patton is going to say no and then Virgil is going to have to beg or explain and everything is going to be ruined and he was such an idiot to think this would work, a fool, a fool, a fo-

“Okay.” 

Okay?

Just... just like that. Okay. Patton is still staring at him and while Virgil hates it when people stare, he has to admit, this isn't as bad as normal. Still terrible, and the eye contact still makes his blush grow a deeper red but Patton’s gaze lacks the coldness or judgmental air that so many other gazes have had. There is no urge to defend himself from the look although he does wish Patton would stop staring - he is only going to be disappointed by what he finds.

Virgil reaches out, hand curling around Patton’s wrist and gently tugs him towards the stairs. There is no resistance from Patton beyond a slight stumble on the third step, and he lets Virgil guide him up the stairs and to his own room. They stand in the middle of Morality’s bedroom and he has never been in here before. It's... nice. The fairy lights give off a soft glow, enough light to see but hopefully not too bright. Every headache is different after all and there are some he has had where even this level of light would have been too much.

They stand in the middle of the room, Virgil letting go of Patton’s wrist now there is no excuse to hold it. He finds he instantly misses the warmth. Virgil does his best not to stare at the items in the room, eyes trained on the carpet at their feet. It would be rude to look although he is so curious to know how Patton choses to decorate his room.

Nervously, he fidgets, fingers twisting against each other as he tries to gather the courage for what he needs to suggest now. This is going to be so uncomfortable. Patton simply waits for him, patient despite the headache pounding away behind his eyes. His blinks are noticeably slower, clearly struggling and it makes Virgil swallow heavily. Too late to back out now, far, far too late.

“Tell anyone about this and I'll... I'll put a spider in your bed,” Virgil threatens, hiding more and more behind Anxiety.

He won't of course. Even when - if? - Patton tells Logan and Roman about this, when they all have a laugh at how weak and pathetic little Anxiety is, he won't be cruel. It will just prove their point of course, give them yet more ammunition against him but he cannot be cruel like that.

He expects Patton to squeal or make some comment despite the pain, to react to the threat as a normal side would. To offer a threat of his own in an attempt to try and protect himself. Its what Deceit or one of the others would do. Not that Virgil would be planning to help them like this, not that they would ever accept his help. Instead, he just gives Virgil a small, tired - but, it seems, real - smile.

“I promise Kiddo,” he mumbles, voice pitched low as if the vibrations of talking just make his head hurt more. Virgil has taken plenty of migraines from Thomas that did just that.

“Don't,” Virgil snaps, shoulders hunched and defensive. God, but it hurt to have Patton say that word, just as much as it hurts to have Deceit toss around his real name. Neither seem to care about the damage they so casually cause with names and titles. Each one rips into the tattered remains of his soul, leaving him more and more bruised and aching.

“Don't. Call me that.”

He's not Patton’s kiddo. Patton himself had made that very clear. He wasn't when they were kids, when he needed a dad more than anything and he can't be now. It would be easy to take the word offered, to pretend but Virgil wants the truth. No matter how painful, he needs the truth. His life is full of lies enough as it is, he is drowning in lies sometimes. 

“Get changed for bed.”

Again, Patton obeys him without protest. It should be reassuring, having someone not fight him on every little thing for once but the lack of any argument just sets him even further on edge, just waiting for the sudden shift to occur. It makes something hot and unpleasant squirm in the pit of his stomach. Patton shouldn't trust him like this. 

For all he knows, he _could_ be like the darkest of the sides, this could actually be a plot to hurt him or something. Patton is far too trusting and Virgil worries he is just going to get hurt because of it one day. 

The tension seems to grow ever more oppressive with each passing second, Virgil keeping his gaze firmly on the ground as Patton awkwardly gets into his pajamas. Should he have offered to help? Moving is hard enough when you have a headache, but having to twist your neck around as you pull shirts on and off your body is even worse. Then again, having Anxiety help you undress is not the way to go around relaxing. None of this, is relaxing.

“Changed,” Patton tells him softly, voice still warm and he doesn’t understand how Patton can stand to be so kind to him, how even now he doesn’t treat him like a freak. He breathes in, a great, shuddering breath, his chest vibrating with the motion. 

“I, uh... I have some experience with headaches, I know you have one,” Virgil mumbles, unable to look up and meet Patton’s gaze. “I thought... I thought I could...” Words tremble on the tip of his tongue, and he doesn't know how to ask without sounding like a total freak.

“You want to help me?” Patton’s voice is full of wonder instead of the expected scorn as if he has been given a gift that he is going to treasure. It's enough to make Virgil lift his head to peek out at the moral side. Who is staring at him in unabashed joy. If they were anime characters, he is convinced Patton would have hearts instead of eyes. And that look is directed at _him_.

“I uh. I do. I thought... a head massage would help. If you want.”

“I want,” Patton breathed, hands lifting to his mouth, eyes growing even wider. 

“Okay well... well get on the bed. You may as well be comfortable.” In all honesty, Virgil hadn't really expected to get this far, his plan had ended a couple of sentences ago. So now he was winging his plan and there were many things he hated; winging it was right up there near the top of the list.

They try and get comfortable, Virgil sitting cross legged at the top of the bed, Patton climbing on after. He looks so much younger somehow, without his glasses, movements fumbled as he feels his way along the bed. Virgil expects the other side to settle next to him perhaps, to lean on his shoulder. Really, he should know better. Personal space is not a concept Patton seems to understand and the moral side simply lies down - it is his bed after all - and uses Virgil’s lap as a pillow. In response, Virgil tenses up, every inch of him freezing, brain screaming to abort, abort, abort. 

He doesn’t.

Contradictory emotions are battling each other fiercely in his mind and he doesn’t understand how this can be at once the most uncomfortable and yet comfortable at the same time. Patton makes a small whine like sound from somewhere below him, a wordless noise that manages to convey his confusion, and of course he would lie down, Virgil is an idiot. This is a massage and its supposed to relax. He, personally, doesn’t feel very relaxed but that is beside the point.

Virgil supposes he must be making it worse but he needs to touch Patton’s head for this to work, he doesn't have the same kind of connection he needs to be able to take pain from afar. Which means they have to be this close. Fingers are trembling a little as he reaches out, a light brush over Patton’s forehead, the other boy’s skin feeling heated. 

He has to be careful here. Virgil still doesn’t even know if this is going to work, but he is determined to try. He can take a headache slowly from Thomas so it stands to reason he can do the same for Patton. But Patton knows he is here, possibly even knows what he is capable of and probably wouldn't want him to do this. It just shows how bad he really is, that he is knowingly going against what should be right and what he thinks Morality would choose.

Carefully, he reaches out again, hand brushing over his forehead and this time running through his hair. Virgil adds the slightest little pressure to his touch. Again and again, he passes over Patton’s scalp, massaging it as promised.

On the fifth brush through his hair, Virgil risks pulling the headache. Just a fraction. Just drawing it up to the surface, pulling only for as long as he is touching. With each run through he pulls a little more, expertly draining the pain and taking it on himself.

A sigh of contentment slips from Patton as he stretches out, getting more comfortable. Eyes flutter close, Patton giving a little mumble, voice pitched too low for Virgil to actually make out any individual words. Fingers carry on playing with his hair, tracing over his scalp. Virgil closes his own eyes, trying to push down the rising pain as best he can.

Fingers brush over his free hand and he freezes. Brown eyes snap open in surprise, Virgil watching as Patton reaches out and threads his fingers through his own. The moral side doesn’t even look at him, just hums in contentment and nudges against the hand resting lightly against his scalp, a silent and gentle demand for more attention. It’s enough to shake him out of his frozen state and make Virgil move again, returning to his gentle massage and somewhere along the way Patton falls asleep, still nestled in his lap. Virgil hasn’t even finished taking the headache and although it would be easier to just pull the rest now, he carries on the massage, just enjoying the moment as best he can through the pain.

A smile twitches onto his lips as he watches Patton sleep. It's more relaxing than he expected, sitting here on Patton’s bed, Patton slumbering peacefully away. The weight of the other side is reassuring instead of making him feel panicked or trapped. Even the headache doesn't seem so bad somehow and while he feels a little sick, Virgil doesn't think he is going to actually throw up. He should leave now that his job is finally done and Patton isn't in pain anymore. There is no reason to stay and yet he finds himself hesitating. 

Patton’s fingers twitch a little against his own, tightening ever so subtly, as though even in sleep, he can hear Virgil’s thoughts, the tiny action stilling any intentions he has of leaving right now.

In the end, he falls asleep still holding Patton’s hand, the moral side’s head still cushioned in his lap. They slumber peacefully together, his nightmares chased away by the proximity of Patton. 

For the first time in years he sleeps a full eight hours.


	8. We’re not broken just bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is too tired to do anything but at the same time too awake to be able to sleep. A low level restless energy hums through him, Virgil trying to blink away the tears that keep forming in the corner of his eyes.
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Sometimes Virgil has a bad day. Sometimes it becomes a good one. And sometimes the line between the two is impossible to make out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning, there is a moment of very negative self thinking from Virgil, although it is very brief.
> 
> Chapter title is from _Just Give me a Reason_ by **P!nk**.

****

### **We’re not broken just bent**

**  
**

Today was going to be a bad day. Virgil had known that the moment he had first woken up and realised it was only three thirty in the morning that it was going to be a bad day, the next three hours spent tossing and turning in his bed, willing either sleep or day to actually come. Groggily, he had pulled himself from the bed, almost walking into his wardrobe because his eyes refused to focus properly. It was going to be a very, very long day.

The others seem to feed off his energy when he is like this, they enjoy the misery he feels, misery that can be so easily translated to misery for Thomas and so they try and push him, drive him into feeling even worse in the hope that he will stumble and trip. Virgil doesn’t want to be down here when he feels like this, doesn’t want to run the risk of doing just that and hurting Thomas.

He doesn’t want to be down here period. 

Only Deceit makes it bearable and his friend is nowhere to be seen when he cracks open his door an inch to peer out. There is nobody in sight at the moment, it is still very early, too early for anyone else to be awake. He could go and wake Deceit up of course, try and gain some comfort from his friend but somehow that thought sits oddly in his mind. Somehow, he knows, he will not gain the comfort he seeks if he does that. 

With a snap of his fingers, Virgil forces himself to shift into his room upstairs. The movement is not nearly as graceful as normal, the side stumbling a little as he finds himself in a different place. Even though it is the room he had intended to appear in, he still finds the change disorientating for a moment, arms flying out to support himself. His room feels lighter up here, but even the change in scenery does little to help his mood.

The worst thing is, there is no real reason for feeling this way.

Nothing terrible has happened to Thomas recently. Nothing big was coming up, he was on top of all planned projects. He didn’t have any nerve wracking social events on the near horizon. There was no trigger, but then he was the literal embodiment of anxiety. And sometimes, he just got anxious for no reason. Virgil really hates himself sometimes. Often. Most of the time.

He is just tired. Drained of all energy, and lacking the enthusiasm to do anything. Even getting dressed had been a chore, Virgil barely having the energy needed to pull on his black checkered hoodie, the simple action draining him even further. 

He is too tired to do anything but at the same time too awake to be able to sleep. A low level restless energy hums through him, Virgil trying to blink away the tears that keep forming in the corner of his eyes. Even sitting upright seems like too much of a struggle right now and he finds himself lying on the floor in the center of his room, hands folded over his chest. Headphones are around his ears, Virgil’s gaze wide and unseeing as he gazes up at the ceiling, not moving, barely breathing. As though he could just sink into the carpet and vanish from existence. No music is playing, the mp3 player having long since run out of battery. He should go and plug it in, let it charge up again but that would mean moving and moving right now still seems out of the realms of possibility. He breathes out slightly, the subtle rise and fall of his chest still the only sign that he is alive at all. 

He’s not sure he wants to be existing right now. It’s not like he wants to die. But at moments like this, Virgil would like very much to just... not be. Or at least, not be _himself_.

His thoughts twist on themselves, Ouroboros chasing its own tail, endlessly devouring itself in its hunger. They turn darker and darker, with no end in sight. It’s not like anybody cares about him. Not even Thomas. No, especially not even Thomas. The one person he wanted approval from. What was the point in even trying at this point, when he never got so much as a thank you. And how pathetic was he, that he cared about being thanked, that he would even consider giving up just because he wasn't popular. Weak. Feeble. Useless. A waste of space and oxygen. Thomas should have been granted a better anxiety, one that just did his job. Pitiful. Contemptible. A wretched excuse of a side.

A knock on his door shakes himself sharply out of such morbid thoughts. Head tilts to the side, angled to stare at the door. Surely he had imagined such a sound. Who was going to be knocking on his door? Who even knew he was here?

The knock sounds again. 

Slowly, Virgil pushes himself upright, phone fished out of his pocket. The screen flicks to life, the sudden and harsh brightness making him flinch and blink against the glare as the numbers slowly solidify into a time he understands.

Ten fifteen. Has he really been lying here for that long? It feels like he has been here for erons, worlds rising and falling in the eternity he has been attempting to become one with the floor. At the same time, it has only been a couple of blinks, a couple of thoughts, a couple of breaths. Time never has much meaning to him, an enemy more than anything else, always running too fast through his fingers or frozen in amber.

Awkwardly, he clambers to his feet, trying to find the energy he needs to actually move. If someone is knocking at his door, then it has to be important. Maybe something is wrong with Thomas. The fear that inspires in him is like a jolt of caffeine. It is enough to carry him to his door, yanking it roughly open in one motion.

“Hello Kid- uh, Anxiety.” Patton is standing at his door, one hand behind his back. The other is still lifted, as though he had been about to knock again. The bespeckled side is smiling broadly, bouncing on the the balls of his feet. Virgil squints, for a moment unable to trust his own eyes, unable to believe that Patton was really there. He doesn't shimmer and dissolve like other hallucinations he has seen in the past, doesn’t scowl and toss hateful truths his way. This Patton might actually be real, he seems very excited - he hadn’t realised just how excitable Patton really was, and how low his standards must be, if the sight of a sleep deprived Anxiety is enough for him. The smile doesn’t have any trace of a lie or cruelty to it, the sort of smile he has never seen directed purely at him. Patton is too nice for his mind to recreate this accurately, so this is actually happening. 

“Morality.” 

Virgil can’t help but be on guard, eyes flickering up and down the corridor to check if anyone else is there. Is this some kind of trick? A new game to humiliate him? Nobody has ever knocked on his door for a positive reason before. He hasn't even seen Patton since the morning after their unintended slumber party.

Just thinking about that makes him blush uncomfortably, remembering the panic that had rushed through him when he had woken in a strange place, those seconds of sheer terror before memory had finally kicked in, how he had fallen over his own feet in his haste to get away, to get back to his own room before Deceit noticed he hadn’t been in either of his own beds. His neck had been killing him from his awkward sleeping position, the stiffness disguising any lingering traces of a headache he might have been still suffering from.

Virgil had even ignored Patton’s suggestion that he join him for breakfast, too intent on getting away and spending the next few days avoiding everyone as best he could.

“Did you need something?” Internally, he cringes a little at how rude he sounds, how standoffish but he can’t help himself. None of the main ones ever want him around and they have never actively sought him out. Unless... unless Patton does just want something. That’s probably it. He needs something and is here to get it. Virgil forces himself to focus a little, but he can't feel any headache coming from the moral side, and there goes that theory. 

Patton shakes his head rapidly, still bouncing a little. Both of his hands are now behind his back as though hiding something and that just makes his heart pick up its pace. The list of things Virgil doesn’t like could probably fill a whole library but here is a new - old - one.

He doesn’t like surprises. 

“Oh no, nothing like that. I know you're not too fond of my cooking Anxiety, and that's okay!” Words almost tumble out over themselves in their apparent haste to be said, Patton not wanting to linger on the way Virgil had reacted to the food. He squirms a little at the mention nevertheless, knowing his childish behaviour with the plates were hardly his finest moment, no matter how justified he feels in what he did. Virgil wants to say that isn't true, that he used to love his cooking and he is sure the dishes Patton makes now are just as delicious. He doesn't know how to say the words though, still, after all this time. He doesn’t know how to bring up the day Patton had broken his heart.

“-ut baking isn’t the same as cooking! And I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me champ, I really appreciate it.”

Patton is still talking, Virgil’s attention dragged roughly back to the scene in front of him. The hands behind the moral sides back finally move, Patton shyly offering... something, up to him. 

“You... you made me a cupcake.” Virgil knows his voice sounds flat as he stares at the small object in Patton’s hands, unable to fully grasp what is happening. 

The cupcake is in a wrapper decorated in hearts and animal paw prints, a handmade design that is so very Patton. It has pale blue frosting and on top... on top is a letter in piped icing. The letter ‘A’. 

A for... Anxiety? 

He feels as though something has gotten in his eye, Virgil blinking rapidly to try and clear it, ignoring the way they sting and the water that wanted to spill out on his cheeks as a result.

“Don’t you like it?” Patton’s voice has gotten very soft, Virgil’s eyes widening in horror as he realises his mistake. What kind of moron cries at the sight of baked treats? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now Patton thinks he doesn’t like it, thinks he doesn’t like him and he is going to hell for upsetting Patton.

“No! No, I. I mean yes. I do. I really do.” Words are little more than a jumbled mess, Virgil unable to think, stuck somewhere between a gift and the idea that he messed it up. He isn’t thinking as he reaches out to take the offered treat, just holding it in his hands and staring blankly, brain little more than white noise. 

For a couple of moments they simply stand there.

“Well... I’m gonna go... I'll be making lunch in a couple of hours... just so you know it’s there.” The not quite an offer is barely noticed, Virgil still staring off into space, trembling slightly. After another awkward pause, Patton gives him another smile and turns, walking away.

Patton is almost as the end of the hallway and out of sight before Virgil’s brain comes back online.

“Thanks.” Virgil doesn’t know if Patton even hears his mumbled word, but he stops at the end to flash Virgil a warm smile and then is gone, vanishing down the stairs. 

Brown eyes drop back down to stare at the cupcake. It looks the same as before, still blue, still adorned with a letter proving it was for him and nobody else. He shuffles back into his room, using his shoulder to nudge his door shut, his attention focused on the precious cargo in his hands.

With almost over the top care he balances the cupcake on the desk before darting to his bed. Energy seems to return to him in a flash, Virgil bouncing on the balls of his feet in an unconscious imitation of Patton as he tries to tidy the many blankets as best he can. When the bed is neat once more, Virgil retrieves the cupcake and places it on the Nightmare before Christmas blanket that always sits pride of place on his bed.

Phone dips and weaves, hand shaking as he tries to focus it as best he could, finally getting the cupcake in center frame. With a single press of a button he captures the cake in a photo - permanent proof for when he doubts this moment actually happened. 

He hesitates only a moment before going into the settings of his phone, a couple of quick taps all it takes to change the wallpaper so that the photo of the cake is now his background.

Nobody is going to see his wallpaper and realize how quickly he crumbled at the slightest hint of pity after all. Nobody else needs to know. Exhale is shaky as he places the phone down, his heart pounding. Virgil feels as though he has run a marathon, nerves jittery.

With his finger he reaches out, wiping part of the letter away. Slowly, he turns the cupcake around looking at it upside down. The ‘A’ has become a ‘V'. Now the cupcake looks like it was made for him. 

He itches to pick up his phone again, to take another picture of the new letter but that would be evidence. Virgil has to keep his promise to himself, has to protect his name. He can’t afford to leave any trace, not even on his personal phone that never leaves his possession. It is just too dangerous. 

At least he has this moment though. He has this cake. That Patton made for him and Virgil doesn’t think he is going to get over that anytime soon. It’s almost a shame to eat it, Virgil hesitating for a couple of moments as he stares at it. He doesn’t want the cake to vanish, for his existence to disappear in crumbs but Patton might ask if he liked it later. Virgil can’t lie to him, can’t throw it away or keep it suspended. He just hopes he can actually eat it and it isn’t like the meals - but then this isn’t born of a lie, this isn’t a pretense. This is because Virgil did something good.

With a soft hum of pleasure he finally bites into the cake, sweet frosting coating his lips. The cake was... oh god, the cake was amazing. Soft and fluffy, a hint of creamy vanilla but not overpowering the chocolate chips scattered within, tiny pockets of dark chocolate which create a delicious contrast to the cake itself. The cake is still warm, as though Patton couldn’t wait to give it to him.

Tongue flicks out, licking away the frosting on his lips, Virgil only realising with that that motion that he was smiling. 

Maybe today wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.

\--

Thomas eventually starts using the main sides for his videos. Not him though. Never him.

By this point he's left Deceit and the rest behind him for good, moved full time into the room upstairs, Virgil having come to the conclusion that the friendship between the two of them was no friendship at all. That spending time with Deceit only hurt him, which he might have tolerated, knowing that he deserved it. But hurting him hurts Thomas in the long run and that cannot happen.

It's not like the movies. 

There is no singular moment, no word or action that pulls the rug out from under his feet. No event that lets the blindfold fall from his eyes and enable him to see their friendship clearly for the first time. Looking back, Virgil will not be able to point to the moment he made the choice to leave, or even the point to when he realised the choice has already been made. It isn't as though Deceit suddenly launches into some song and dance routine about any dark plans he might have or give a villains monologue - Virgil still isn't even sure if he would describe Deceit as a villain, just bad for him personally. Flawed of course. As they all are. But a true villain? Virgil still doesn't know.

If he has to record an apple falling from the tree to land on his head, it will be this -

The way Deceit considers a locked door to be an insult to their friendship, instead of understanding that everybody needs privacy now and then. Virgil trying to lock himself away for any reason is always the trigger to a vicious fight, one that leaves him bewildered as to the why.

Or the look Deceit gives him whenever Virgil disagrees with anything he has suggested, an icy cold look that makes the breath catch in his throat and a panic attack simmer in the back of his mind. It promises a world of trouble later, a promise that Deceit never fails to deliver. In those moments, he is honest, as much as Virgil wishes otherwise. 

Or the small snatches of conversation he overhears between Deceit and one of the others, the insults levelled towards Patton. As though Dad is stupid, as if he is wrong for being happy, for refusing to give in to the fear and pain. They never seem to realise how strong Patton really is and it makes his blood boil.

And the branch trembles.

Or the attitude Deceit has about his name, the ease in which he teases revealing Virgil’s name, the way his mouth will linger on letters and syllables. It always happens when he dares to disagree with something Deceit wants. Not every time of course, that would lessen the effectiveness of the threat and he understands it as a threat, no matter how Deceit will play it as only a game.

Or the fear that courses through Virgil's body whenever he makes a choice he knows Deceit will not approve. The cape wearing side doesn’t even have to be present - sometimes he doesn’t even know - and yet Virgil will feel that fear nonetheless. It happens with large choices, such as each time he takes a headache, be it from Thomas, or more lately, from Patton. It happens with as small a choice as Virgil eating the wrong kind of food. 

Or the perverse glee he takes in trying to wind up Logan, in building walls and towers of lies around Thomas. He slips in little lies into facts, twists knowledge to his own ends, purely to frustrate and hurt the logical side. Just to make him suffer, it isn’t even about helping Thomas in any fashion. There is nothing to be gained from his actions sometimes, aside from knowing that another side will be upset by it and often, Thomas is oblivious to the war raging in his mind, to the pain Logan is in thanks to Deceit.

And the steam snaps.

Or the joy Deceit takes in seeing Thomas suffer or fail. He constantly pushes for lies that help but just as often he pushes for lies that don't. Lies to other people, lies to himself. Lies that he doesn't need to revise for that big test tomorrow, that he knows enough to get a passing grade without any further effort and they can totally go play that new video game instead. Virgil always tries to kick in, in moments like this, tries to push Thomas back on the right track but more often than not he is ignored as the others take over, Deceit smirking the whole time, Virgil determined to do better next time. Then come the morning, it is always Virgil’s fault that Thomas is suddenly so stressed, always his fault for not making sure they were prepared enough. And then his fault if they failed, and he can feel the delight radiating off Deceit in those moments, payment for normally being ignored by Thomas. 

Or the lies in general. Oh god, the lies. They are spun straw to gold, filling the hallways with their silken threads. They entangle them all, and the worst part is how so many don't even see them. Don't realise they are just silly little puppets dancing to Deceit’s whims. He knows he isn't immune, tries to pick off the string he sees but there are more, so many more. Sometimes he can feel them rather than see them, feel the leash wrapped tightly around him, the harsh tugs that send him reeling into words and actions he doesn't want. He can all but smell the blood when he fights against those orders, can taste the tang in his mouth.

Or the smirk on his face as he never defends Virgil from the others, as he takes insults Roman has used and reframes them into something far more painful. Roman’s insults are creative - unsurprisingly, considering who they originate from but while they are mean, they are never as painful as the ones refashioned by Deceit. He says it is so Virgil can be stronger next time. The smirk as he offers up suggestions of his own, insults Virgil can use to get his own back on Roman and doesn't he want Creativity to suffer for everything he has done? Doesn't he want to win for once in his miserable existence? They always feel like an assassin's blade in his hands, the potential to sink deep. He never uses them.

And the apple hits his head.

It is an ugly parting.

“They hate you! They _hate you_ ,” Deceit screams and for once, Virgil knows he isn't lying. He pauses for a moment in his packing to close his eyes against the surge of pain that rises up in chest at that knowledge spoken out loud. It is a truth he has heard many times whispered in his mind, but it is no easier to hear it

“I know,” Virgil replies, voice soft. He opens his eyes again, blinking rapidly to try and clear away the water had has somehow managed to find its way into his vision. He will not cry, not yet. A deep breath is pulled in through his nose before he carries on his packing, each item carefully folded and placed into the suitcase he has conjured up out of nowhere. It’s not the most practical way to move what little belongings he has left. It would be faster, simpler and certainly less painful to just wave them away and let them reform upstairs. It seems... wrong though, somehow, to do that. As though this moment deserves something more, as if there is a point he needs to make.

Maybe he’s just been hanging around Princey too much, even though they do nothing but fight these days. It would certainly explain this sudden shift towards a dramatic move.

His words seem to take the wind out of Deceit’s sails, the other side taken aback at how readily Virgil agrees to his point and how it doesn't seem to change his plans. He knows it must look strange, to choose to live among those who hate him, to admit that they do and yet still chose them.

“Then why are you doing this Virgil?”

His name. His name _again_ and Deceit has long ago lost any right to say that name. He had never had the right.

Virgil spins to face the other side, a sudden and childish urge to knock Deceit’s hat off rising in him. To show him that he wasn't in control of everything and certainly not in control of Virgil anymore. His thoughts must be visible in his gaze because Deceit takes a sudden half step backwards, hands lifting in a calming gesture.

“Be reasonable Virgil,” Deceit tells him, voice slipping into that condescending tone it gets whenever he tries to lecture him into agreeing. As though Virgil is still a scared little child that needs to be led by the hand and told what to say, what to do. He's let Deceit do that for far too long now. The scaly skinned side is still talking, hissing out his poison that corrupts everything, like acid.

“Be logical if you must. They hate you, you know this. Why not stay here, where I love you? You're my best friend Anxiety.”

Best friend. Love you. Lies. Lie layered upon lie. Hands curl into fists to stop himself from lashing out as he wants to. Tears sting in his eyes, his own truth slipping out at long last.

“Because you all hate me too!”

With a wave of his hand, the last of his belongings vanish from the room, and screw packing everything away neatly and walking out of this room with a suitcase and his head held high. That was far too orderly for him. He just needs to get out of here, get away, away, away. To a different brand of liar but one he hopes he can handle.

(The memory of Patton sleeping on him is like a ghost, non-existent heat making his body flush. He isn't sure how to handle this.)

He spins sharply on his heel, marching over to the door and yanking it open with more force than is perhaps, strictly necessary.

“Fine! Leave then! See if I care! You’ll come crawling back soon enough Anxiety, you’ll come begging for me to make things better! You won't be sorry!”

The truth of Deceit’s words chase him even as he flops down on his bed. His only bed now. This room is all his, and he is never going back down there to live again. Even the bed upstairs feels more comfortable, the mattress well sprung, the best blankets tossed over it.

_They hate you!_

With a snarl, he pushes himself back upright seconds later, angrily stomping into his bathroom, trying to will such thoughts away. Perhaps they didn't all hate him. Patton brought him a cake after all. You don't do that to people you hate. He could hold onto that thought, if it wasn’t for the cold, cynical part of him pointing out all the many flaws to that theory. 

That Patton only brought the cake so he wouldn't feel like he owed Virgil anything, so that he wouldn't be obligated to the anxious trait. It wasn’t because he liked him, that was insane to even consider. Virgil had just done something nice and it was making Patton feel guilty he hadn’t made more an effort in turn. That was all. He was going to go right back to ignoring him after this, Virgil was sure of it.

_They hate you!_

He doesn't _need_ to be liked.

( _Want_ is another matter, a foreign country.)

He stands in his bathroom, staring at his reflection. Too pale, always too pale, he looks like some undead nightmare and yet for all that he covers himself in makeup to make himself even paler, in the hope that he might cover up some of the scars. His hair falls messily over his face, a rough shield against the world, against anyone staring at him. Slowly, he lifts a hand, brushing the strands of hair away, so that in the privacy of his own bathroom, he can see his face clearly.

He looks ridiculous with his foundation and black shadows under eyes clumsily created with eyeliner.

But for all of that, he looks like himself. He looks like;

“Virgil,” he whispers to himself. The reflection in the mirror mouths the word along with him, and he is struck by how it looks. Has he ever seen himself say the name before? It is another rebellion, to say the name out loud in the daylight, instead of waiting for the early hours of the morning.

“Virgil.”

In this moment, he feels as though he could do anything. As though he could do everything.

Giggles bubble up in him, something wild and free and he wants to laugh and laugh and laugh. Hand lifts up to his mouth, almost smacking himself in the face as he slaps it across lips, silencing the sound before it can properly form, his hair thankfully falling back over his forehead, covering himself away once more.

He wants to laugh until he cries. 

Something shifts in the real world. Thomas is preparing some new content for his followers, another video to try and make people laugh perhaps. Another step in turning this hobby into a full time job and really, did Thomas have to pick a job that gave him so much work to do? Videos are a never ending source of stress for Virgil, from the planning to the production, to the posting and the reactions. Even when all is said and done, and videos are months old, Virgil cannot let himself relax. New people are finding them all the time, watching them, leaving comments.

Still, maybe he is getting worked up over nothing, this is a good day. Maybe this will be a good video, and he won't have to worry about it for too long. He hopes it is better than the talking stove at least.

Thomas turns on the camera to film another vlog - about what exactly, Virgil isn't sure. Head tilts slightly to the side in a bird like motion as he reads the emotions inside Thomas to try and work out what is happening right now. It isn't hard to get a reading on his host, their connection blazing bright when he wants it to.

He is feeling so relaxed, so good. About life in general, about the video he was about to create, about everything really. A little too good, a little too carefree.

What is Thomas forgetting?

Virgil smiles. It is not altogether a nice smile, something a little too sharp in the curve of his lips, jagged edges that leave everyone cut and bleeding - Anxiety included. 

Maybe it was time to finally introduce himself properly to Thomas and his fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the chapter I intended to write, I had something very different in mind (which will now be the next chapter) but Virgil and Patton insisted and after writing it, I have to say, they were right.


	9. Bottom half of the hourglass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was wondering if you could teach me how to do that wonderful head massage of yours? Say... right now?” Patton asked, giving him wide, pleading eyes.
> 
> Right now? Why on earth would Patton suddenly want to learn how to take headaches away? And to learn with obvious urgency? What has happened while he has been selfish and distracted?
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Virgil's first videos and an unsettling development in the mind occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! We are finally at the videos and starting to pick up the pace. I hope. Your commends and kudos have just been so lovely, omgosh its been amazing. Thank you so much. Bit of an angsty one again this week.
> 
> Chapter title is from _Immortal_ by **Fall out Boy**.

****

### **Bottom half of the hourglass**

**  
**

As first impressions go, it hadn’t exactly been a shining example of how to make friends and influence people. 

Virgil had been too nervous to even stand, channeling that fear of his own into an over the top casualness. If he stood, he would have given away his fears, his legs shaking so hard that Thomas would have heard his knees knocking together all the way from the other side of the room. He is sure Logan won’t mind he took his place in the room, Roman certainly had no problems with popping up where he didn’t belong, in Patton’s spot.

And at least sitting down and occasionally playing with his phone he could take a little of the spotlight off himself. It could give him a few seconds with the focus turned back to Thomas. He could look at the screen and allow it to ground himself before his next attack. And it was an attack, a roar and push of his powers as he tried to make Thomas listen just once. And Thomas had listened - in a way. He had summoned Roman to try and get rid of him, had agreed with Roman when he called him an ‘it’ instead of a he. He wasn’t real of course, wasn't a boy in the sense that Thomas was. He probably was an it over a he... and that was a deep existential crises that Virgil really didn’t want to get into right now. He might not be a real boy, but he still had thoughts and feelings and even dreams. 

More than that though, Virgil had still made himself heard by his host.

That didn’t change the fact that his first appearance on film, by all accounts, had been a complete and utter disaster that had ended with Thomas - for lack of a better word - banishing him from the video and reinforcing the idea that Anxiety, was a bad guy, _the_ bad guy, the villain of the piece.

It should have triggered a panic attack of his own or made him go running back to Deceit and the other Dark Sides. It should have made him realise that the yellow eyed side was right, that he was dark and evil, every negative insult tossed his way. He should have given up on the dream of living among the Light Sides after those few minutes when both Thomas and Roman had fought him. He should be a broken mess, huddled on the floor, crying.

It makes Virgil smile instead.

Yeah, it hasn't exactly been a great introduction and sure, Thomas misunderstood him even more - although that is his own fault he knows. Nothing he had planned to say had come out right at all. His tone had been too threatening, too jarring. He had made some crack about getting the blood pumping and while he had meant it as a joke, it had come out as some whining excuse, the memory making his flesh crawl with embarrassment. This was why he tried not to talk directly to Thomas normally. He was either ignored or everything came out jumbled, a terrible mess. And it had been a mess indeed.

But Thomas had _acknowledged_ him. Had accepted that he existed, that he had anxiety. After decades of being pushed to the side, of Thomas ignoring him as best he could and only turning to him at three in the morning with great reluctance, before pushing him back aside as soon as he possibly could... after so many years lurking unnoticed in the shadows of his life, Thomas had actually spoken to him. They had almost had a conversation that wasn't a list of all the terrible life choices Thomas had made and how everything was going to crash and burn around them.

He can work with that.

Not to mention, the advice Thomas had been given by Lilly was actually helpful, and had managed to calm him down a little. 

Virgil wants Thomas to be able to control his fears better. The better Thomas can control his fears, then the less work Virgil has to do himself, and so much the better.

He even tries the various pieces of advice himself, in the privacy of his own bedroom. Some, work better than others - no matter how hard he tries for example, Virgil cannot get the hang of positive self-talk. He cannot even think of anything positive to say about himself normally, so he is hardly surprised at his failing to come up with anything to convince the voices in his head to just shut up and let him rest.

By and large though, Virgil feels it was a success.

Of course, there had been the small fact that Roman had called him a beast to vanquish or how both of them said they couldn’t stand him, but Virgil was really trying to focus on the positives right now. 

The next few videos fare little better. He pushes too hard, too enthusiastic, too desperate to be heard. Too frantic to keep them all from lying to themselves, to each other and don't they realise what will happen if they allow the lies to gain too much power? It's bad enough that Thomas suffers from anxiety to such a degree that Virgil has as much power, control as he does. If Deceit had more of a presence then... then... well, Virgil doesn't want to think about it. He just knows that he needs to keep Thomas as honest as possible. He just knows he needs to keep appearing in the videos - and how strange, to look through the comments and see that while a lot of people didn’t like him, some... did?

Virgil understands the point of view of those who don’t like him far better than those who do. He is certainly talked about in the growing group of people who consist of Thomas’ fans and that it a whole different panic attack in its own right. They want him to keep appearing in the videos and so he will keep appearing. For them and for Thomas.

After all this time being ignored and insulted, he is finally being listened to - to a degree at least. He is still ignored more often than not, his points dismissed over and over again. He’s still insulted. Still chased off, as though he is a Disney character, some pantomime villain for them to defeat and overcome. Even revealing his own love of Disney hadn't been enough for Roman, oh no, the Prince could never accept the idea that he might have something in common with dark and wicked Anxiety.

If anything, it had pushed Roman further away. Created some imaginary line in the sand that he had crossed and really, Virgil still finds it ridiculous that after all their fights over the years, Roman thinking he was insulting Disney was the thing that pushed him over the edge. At least in that video Thomas had sort of listened to him - even if the whole thing could have been avoided if either of them had just taken a moment to actually listen to what he had been saying all along.

Virgil isn't giving up though. He is going to prove himself to everyone. They will listen eventually, they will believe he just wants to protect.

They have to.

\--

Now that Virgil is aware Patton suffers from headaches too, he finds himself more attuned to them. He can only assume that the first one he had felt had been particularly bad in order for him to ‘feel’ it and he tries to comfort himself with that thought, that it means he hasn’t been leaving Patton in agony all these years. 

Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that he now lives with them now, that he is here all the time. He might not have officially moved ‘upstairs’ until after the first time but he had been spending every possible moment in this room, was living there in all but name. Whatever the case, it doesn't change the fact that he had felt it that first time.

Because it is a first time. And as a first time implies, there are other times. In most of those times, he feels the headaches again. Virgil had promised himself that once was enough, that he can't risk Patton working out what he is really doing to him when he runs his fingers through his hair. He is too weak though. His body craves the easy affection Patton offers in return for helping him, his worry warring with that need and the need to try and make things better for Dad, if he can.

He leaves if Patton comments on what is actually happening, if he asks Virgil to stay or suggests they hand out sometime when he isn’t in pain. Virgil isn’t ready for that kind of commitment, for something that goes beyond him being a useful tool to be wielded when the need arose. If Patton keeps quiet however - and he learns pretty quickly to do that - then Virgil finds himself staying longer than he means to. Patton always manages to somehow become an octopus on those times he stays so that by the time he has fallen asleep, Virgil is entangled in limbs and blankets, and ends up sleeping there as well. 

Being trapped never feels so bad when it is by Patton. The headaches feel a lot more manageable too, when he is curled up next to someone. He wouldn’t call Patton a friend - Virgil doesn’t understand the word, he gets the meaning but not the flavour. Deceit was not a friend, he knows this much but knowing what is not a friend does not help explain what actually is. A negative cannot define a positive. Whatever they are to each other, it means he doesn’t feel bad around him... he almost feels good when he is spending time with Patton.

He always vanishes first thing in the morning, always refuses any offer Patton might make of breakfast and helping him under the cover of night is one thing but standing beside him during the harsh light of day is more than Virgil is able to give.

It’s an okay day when his world shifts and tilts on its axis once more. He is curled up on his bed, headphones hanging loosely around his ears, music playing softly from them. Virgil doesn’t want to lose himself completely in the music, doesn’t want to shut himself away completely from the world. 

A light knock at his door drags him from the soft place he was drifting mindlessly in, free of any real cares or worries. It was nice to simply not think for a change but it is such a rare occasion when he can allow himself such. He is vigilant for a reason and he should remain so.

If he had his headphones on, he probably would never have heard the knock. Maybe it is destiny he hears it - Virgil can't help but give a little snort at his own thinking, at the idea of destiny as a real force. Destiny must have a warped sense of humour if it had any grand designs in mind for him of all sides.

He stands, turning his music off and leaving the headphones on his bed as he heads over to answer the knock.

There is a brief flurry of panic in the pit of his stomach, a sudden lurch of worry that it might not be Patton on the other side. He tries to calm himself as best he can - of course it is going to be Patton. It is always Patton. Nobody else would want to spend time with him, nobody else would be as kind as to just gently knock on his door and wait for him to answer. He swallows down the irrational thoughts as he opens the door and there indeed, on the other side, stands Patton.

“Hey Ki- Anxiety, sorry to bother you.” Try as Patton might, he can't seem to shake the habit of trying to call him Kiddo, catching himself every time mid word. Coming from anyone else, he might think it was done on purpose but he doubts Patton has the capacity to be deliberately cruel for the sake of being cruel. No, his cruelty is all the worse, because it is wrapped up in kindness.

“I was wondering if you could teach me how to do that wonderful head massage of yours? Say... right now?” Patton asked, giving him wide, pleading eyes.

Right now? Why on earth would Patton suddenly want to learn how to take headaches away? And to learn with obvious urgency? What has happened while he has been selfish and distracted?

This is why he cannot allow himself moments off, moments to relax. He always misses _something_ and someone else always pays the price for his laziness. Later, he will hate himself more thoroughly, but right now he has to work out why Patton is asking and how he can fix whatever he helped to break.

Belatedly, he reaches out to mentally sweep the mind and there, pain. Very faint and all he can say for sure is that it doesn't belong to either Thomas or Patton. Virgil closes his eyes for a moment, focusing in on that low level pain. It would be easy enough to overlook it, in fact he had for who knew how many hours but now he can chase it, finding its path as it zigzags through Thomas but not coming directly from Thomas. Another headache in the mind. 

Another side suffering.

“Who has a headache?” he asks, voice gruffer than normal, and he can't let Morality realise how he knows. Patton’s shoulders instantly sag, the happy smile slipping from his face.

“Logan. I think Teach has been pushing himself too far, he is so busy these days, he always has something new to plan out or check over, there is never enough time in the day he says. I know he has all these schedules he works hard to keep Thomas at, but he says since we aren't real, such a thing shouldn't affect us. He wouldn't even admit to having a headache for ages.”

Virgil nods slightly, mind whirling as he processes this information. He is going to help Logan, of course he is, but that isn’t what his brain is focusing on right now. Instead he is following the train of thought that belongs to Patton, tracing the sequence of events right back down the rabbit hole.

“You thought I wouldn't help Logic?” Try as he might, Virgil can't help the note of sorrow that enters his voice. Sure, he and Logan don't exactly get on but there is a difference between that and activity wishing someone harm, letting them be hurt by his own inaction. Or is it perhaps that he thinks Logan wouldn’t accept help if it came from Anxiety? That would be more likely if it was Roman but Logan is Logic and it wouldn't be logical to refuse help just because of the person offering said help.

Patton shakes his head vigorously and despite everything, Virgil wants so desperately to believe whatever excuse he is about to come out with. That, in itself, is worrying. 

“No, not at all Anxiety! I knew you would if I asked but... I just didn't to put you on the spot. I didn't want you to think I had asked in such a way to pressure you into agreeing.”

If Deceit had ever asked him for anything, it had always been worded to make him feel guilty if he even considered refusing. He feels Patton’s sincerity almost burning into him, a complete contrast to how conversations with Deceit normally went. It’s enough to shake him out of this daze he seems to have fallen into. Instead of actually answering, Virgil steps out into the corridor, bumping his shoulder almost - _almost_ \- playfully against Patton’s.

“Come on, let's go look after the nerd.”

Patton’s dazzling smile makes him offer a shaky one in return, the pair making their way through the mindscape. Virgil pauses in the doorway to Logan's room, lips pressed tightly together as he surveys the scene in front of him. The tie wearing side is sat at his desk, glasses held loosely in one hand, fingers rubbing against his eyes with the other. He appears oblivious to his guests, too caught up in the pain in his own head. The mere sight makes something tug and ache painfully in Virgil’s chest. 

What were these dorks even doing to him?

“Could you get me a damp towel? Just a small one,” Virgil asks Patton quietly. The other side nods, seemingly relieved to have a task to do, Patton instantly turning and heading off. For a moment longer Virgil hesitates in the doorway before taking a slow step inside, unsure of what to say.

“You're not going to give me a head massage are you?” Logan asks, voice dry. It appears he wasn’t as oblivious to their presence as Virgil had first thought. 

His laugh is really little more than a huff of air, and Virgil doesn’t know where this sudden burst of courage comes from but he is going to use it for as long as it lasts. It gives him the strength to pluck the glasses out of Logan’s hand, putting them on the window still and well out of his reach. Logan doesn’t so much make a sound of protest and it only serves to make Virgil feel bolder. 

Brave enough to take Logan by the hand and lead him to his bed, pushing him down on it. Logan seems to fold up on himself with the slightest bit of pressure, flopping down and curling up on the bed with a soft, defeated sigh. It makes that strange feeling in Virgil's chest grow even stronger, an ache that demands he do something to fix this now. Logan shouldn’t be hurting. It isn’t right. 

He swallows heavily before gracefully perches on top of the desk that Logan has just vacated, next to the bed, ignoring the chair as he did so.

“Nah, that won't help this time. This headache seems different to the ones Morality normally gets.” He replied almost without thinking, attention more on the room than his words. He’s never been in Logan’s room before. It’s more... homily than he was expecting, in all honesty. There are bookcases crammed with various books in shapes and sizes. All neat and no doubt in a perfect order, but still a lot of books. The ceiling is covered in stars, hundreds of tiny little specks and Virgil wonders if they glow or if they are in any specific pattern - this is Logan’s room, of course there will be patterns up there. An impressive display of minerals and rocks are scattered throughout the room, more than he could ever hope to possibly name. There is a controlled chaos feeling to the whole place and somehow, it settles Virgil a little, sitting here, soaking it all in.

“How can you possibly know from a single glance, that it is different?” Logan’s voice is tired rather than accusatory, his eyes remaining closed. Virgil knows he is lucky that is the case, that Logan misses the slight flinch or the incredibly guilty look that crosses his features. He flails a little internally, scrabbling for any response that isn't a straight out lie. Finally, he jumps for the distraction, knowing that the pause has been too long, too obvious and any other time Logan would have picked up on his hesitation. 

“Prove me wrong then Logic. What's it feel like?” Virgil holds his breath after he speaks, hoping that Logan won't think too deeply on the conversation and the incorrect social cues he is giving. 

“Like my head has several thick elastic bands wrapped around it, all pressing at the base of my skull. My eyes are somewhat uncomfortable too.” Logan’s words are, thankfully, fully focused on the subject. Logan is the worse at understanding social niceties so it's perhaps not surprising he misses the hints - well possibly not the worse, Virgil is pretty bad at it too, he tends to think everything is code for ‘I hate you’ or ‘fight me’.

“Tension headache at the back of your head,” Virgil says decisively, eyes flickering to the door for a moment. There is still no sign of Patton returning with the towel and he wishes Patton would come back.

“A neck and shoulder massage would help but really you need a professional for that and Thomas has never read any books on the subject so I couldn’t really help you like that,” Virgil explains, pushing aside that feeling as best he can. “The head massage isn't the same thing, any fool could do that, you just run your fingers through hair really.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replied, voice low. Virgil is grateful he didn’t scream the word as he normally would - he doesn’t think either of them would have been able to handle that unholy screech. “By all accounts, you have what Patton has termed ‘magic fingers’ which ease his pain. Your very presence makes him happy, therefore not ‘any fool’ could do what you do.”

He... doesn’t know what to say to that. How to handle the idea that they talked about him behind his back, in a positive manner. He still doesn't know how to handle the fact Patton wants to be his friend - maybe his friend? - all of a sudden.

For a moment he is struck by the strongest urge to know if Patton has said any of this to Roman, to know what Princey might have said in return to the suggestion that Anxiety wasn’t all bad after all. He squashes that urge back down. Nothing good can come of hearing in any detail of what Roman thinks of him. He already knows the truth, he knows how much the creative side hates him. Virgil doesn’t need to hear it yet again - he gets to hear it every time they are in a room together in excruciating detail. 

Patton finally reappears, a small light blue towel held in his hands, carefully handing it over to Virgil as though he was offering up something precious. He takes a step back, hands ringling together as he watches them both with worried eyes. 

“I’ll check back on you later,” Patton promises after a long moment, and Virgil feels himself relax a little at those words, at knowing Patton was giving him space. Almost as though he knows how much Virgil struggles with interacting with people sometimes and how self conscious he already feels about helping. It’s not that he minds Patton’s company so much, but one person is exciting enough. Not to mention he needs to work out how to take the headache away and it will be easier if Patton isn’t there to witness him doing so.

Virgil nods, only dimly aware of Patton leaving once more, his attention fixed on the rigid form of Logan on the bed, tightly clenched as though he can do nothing but remain frozen in a futile effort to be ignored by the pain. He needs to relax if he wants to heal, but Virgil knows such a thing is much more easy to say than to do. The pulses of pain do not lend themselves easily to allowing any kind of relaxing. The sheer misery and pain that is emanating from Logan almost takes Virgil’s breath away. He doesn’t understand how he could have missed it before. This close, it is like standing in the path of a raging storm.

Carefully, Virgil folds the towel in half, lying it across Logan’s eyes. A hiss escapes from Logan as he does before his whole body relaxes, almost melting into his bed, limbs uncoiling a little from their tense, locked in position. Virgil doesn’t need to imagine how good that has to feel, the combination of darkness and coolness against the eyes - he’s used this method to ease himself more times than he is willing to count. Virgil will deny to his dying day that one side of his mouth twitched a little as though trying to break out into a smile at the sight of Logan so relaxed.

He glances to the side, carefully picking up the book that was sitting on the desk next to him, examining it as he did so.

 _The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers._ Huh. He wouldn’t have pegged Logan for the fantasy genre type of guy. Then again, from what he had read Tolkien himself was a complete and utter nerd who created multiple languages and elaborate backstories that spanned thousands upon thousands of years so perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise. The book itself was a little worn, the spine cracked as evidence of repeated reading but the actual pages themselves were crisp and perfect, none dogeared or contaminated by dirty fingerprints of splashes of coffee. Virgil can’t help but feel guilty that he touching it, and no doubt going to leave some smudges or something on the pages. He might even ruin it, Virgil closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a few moments to try and calm himself. 

It’s going to be okay. He isn’t moving from this spot with the book. He will be careful. He won’t damage Logan’s property. He isn’t making that mistake again. 

When he feels steady enough, Virgil opens the novel. As expected, there is a bookmark partway through the novel, black with a swirl of a galaxy scattered through it. It looks homemade, and he wonders which of the other main sides had made it for Logan. Nobody has ever made anything for him, a bittersweet pain running through him and really, Virgil should be used to such thoughts by now but they always strike him with the force of a freshly formed wound. 

Virgil clears his throat against the sudden and unexplained tightening there and begins to read aloud. 

“What... what are you doing?” Logan asks in surprise, trying to sit up once more. Virgil easily presses him back down onto the bed, tongue clicking in disapproval at the attempted movement. For a moment he is silent as he rearranges the towel back over Logan’s eyes to sooth them once more before climbing back onto the desk and picking the novel back up.

“It’s not a noise headache,” he explains, keeping his voice level and calm. “Your eyes hurt so you can't read but a simple distraction will help focus you away from the headache. Listening to a story will help. Unless... you want me to go get Morality to read to you instead?” Virgil deflates a little as he speaks, and of course he would rather Patton was there. Virgil doesn't know how he is going to be able to steal away the headache if Patton is here too but he has to try. 

“No, you may continue, you have a more even tone of voice than Patton, and I am nearing the chapters with Shelob, I doubt he would be able to handle such a thing.”

Virgil hides the hint of a smile behind the sleeve of his jacket at that, despite the fact there is nobody looking to see it before opening the book and picking up from where Logan had last left off.

He makes it through two and a half chapters before a faint snore alerts him that Logan has fallen asleep. Virgil places the book back where he found it, bookmark left in the spot Logan had last been reading - he wouldn’t want to miss the chapters and it isn’t as though he would appreciate any reminders of Virgil touching his things. 

Carefully, Virgil untangles himself from the desk. There is nobody in sight and so he rests the palm of his hand on Logan’s forehead, swallowing nervously as he does so. Virgil closes his eyes and pulls. The headache rushes into him all at once, the suddenness of it making him stagger a little backwards, swallowing down the noise of pain that wants to escape. It makes him feel a little dizzy, Virgil weaving a little as he leaves the room and he doesn’t even make it to his own bed. Once inside his room, he feels all his strength leave him and he ends up curled up on the floor instead, pillow clawed and dragged off his bed to support his head as he drifts off into an uneasy slumber.

\--

He runs into Logan the next morning, still crumpled in last nights clothing. Virgil has gotten good at timing his visits to the kitchen so that he avoids any of the other sides and yet when he slinks into it, Logan is sat at the table, staring at his cup of tea. The sight makes Virgil flinch a little, because it is not part of Logan’s normal routine and he has come to depend on these routines. It eases his own anxiety when things flow smoothly, when the other sides are where they are supposed to be at all times.

This break of routine sets him on edge. 

Slowly, with a deliberate measurement to his movements, Logan lifts his head and fixes Virgil with a stare. The look effortlessly pins him in place, Virgil finding he could neither move nor look away. He wants to cower down into the rumpled hoodie wrapped around him, suddenly aware of how messy it is, how Logan is going to clearly see he has slept in it. Every flaw feels exposed, blistering sores against the sun that is the logical side.

“Thank you Anxiety.” The tone is very formal but Virgil could almost swear he saw a hint of a smile on his lips as he speaks, as though he is genuinely pleased and thankful towards the anxious side. He looks away again after a moment, the breaking of eye contact breaking the hold over him and letting him breathe and move once more. Virgil is sure his whole face is aflame as he grabs an energy bar from the cupboard and flees the room once more, able to feel Logan’s gaze burning into his back as he goes.

_Thank you._

First Patton and now Logan. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone say thank you to him in years and now twice within a span of a couple of months. 

Thanking him for just doing his job, for protecting them as he is meant to. You don’t thank a hammer for getting the nail in the wall - well, Patton probably would but then Patton is Patton. He doesn't know how to react to people trying to thank him, it is mystifying.

At least Roman is still behaving how he expects. It might not be how he really wants it to be - but considering how much it is freaking him out to have them be nice to him, perhaps it is not what he wants afterall. Roman is still a constant he understands at least. Roman is never going to say thank you and somehow, that is almost comforting. 

\--

Okay.

Okay.

He just. He just needs to breathe. This is fine. He is fine. What was that saying again? Fine never meant fine. Fine meant... Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. Which he was. He was very much ‘fine.’ He was fairly sure he was the most ‘fine’ it was possible to be. 

He could handle this.

Helping Patton _and_ Logan on top of Thomas won't be so bad. Neither seems to suffer from headaches nearly as much as their host and he can use the same rules for them as he has for him. Only interfering when they are bad enough. And as soon as the connection between them is strong enough, he will be able to do it without leaving his room. Virgil will miss the physical contact between himself and Patton but it is for the best, he needs to cut off this stream of warmth before he allows it to melt him completely. He could not handle giving in to that feeling only to have Patton reject him again. Better to be the one rejecting it first, to harden his heart once more.

He has grown far too weak, too needy and reliant on the physical contact between them. He so easily forgives and forgets the crimes of the past. So weak. He is so very weak. So desperate to be accepted, to be apart of the family he sees around him, the easy smiles, the gentle physical contact. The joint activities that do not require much input but still let them bask in each other’s presence. Its stuff he wants, stuff he has always wanted and even these little moments with Patton threaten to unblock that dam within him.

Virgil knows he has to build the walls back up before he is hurt again, has to remind himself of every cruel word and act the three of them have inflicted on him. Rekindle his anger in order to reforge his armour, to protect his bleeding and stupid heart. Patton is just being nice out of guilt, because he was kind first. Patton was still the one who had told him to stay away in the first place. He just needs to keep chanting the truth over and over in his head until it finally sinks in.

Patton. Doesn’t. Love. Him. 

End of. 

So they can handle the smaller headaches themselves, just as they have done up until this moment. Better, in fact, now, because they can use his advice if they want. The tips he gave them aren't complete lies after all, Virgil trying to smoother down the guilt that churns in him at the thought of how he has tricked them, how they think it is simply the use of light and touch and various objects to sooth and let the pain work itself free. 

He tries to push down the guilt of the truth. How he is messing with their minds without their consent.

Virgil believes so fiercely in the concept of consent and yet at the slightest bit of pain from one of the Light Sides - worse, the slightest hint of pain from Thomas - and he is charging right in there and taking the choice away from them all.

He is so arrogant to think he knows best for them all.

And far worse, he is a hypocrite, because he knows in his heart that he will do it again and again. Anything to keep them safe. 

He tries to console himself as best he can, tries to remind himself that he has helped and is still helping. That his tips will aid them when headaches strike again, will guide them when he can’t be there to make it just go away. He is going to make sure they are never stuck with a bad headache.

He can handle this.

It just means in the end, more pain for him, but that is a price he is more than willing to pay. Thomas needs the two of them working unhindered a lot more than he needs him. Virgil has proved that he is not that important, that he can be in the grip of a migraine and Thomas can function just fine.

Sometimes, in his darkest thoughts, he wonders if Thomas prefers it when he is so clearly suffering. Because when Virgil is huddled in his bed, pain wracking his form, and every part of him is clamped down to numb the connection between them so his host doesn’t get the pain back, then Thomas doesn’t have to handle his anxiety. He doesn’t need to be constantly whispering in Thomas’ ear for his host to manage just find. Sometimes, the thoughts spiral even further - if Thomas can handle it when he is distracted by his own pain, if Thomas can manage just fine during those moments then what good is Virgil really? Would Thomas even notice if he pulled away completely? Would Thomas... be happier, if he cut himself and his influence off for good?

No, he has to ignore those thoughts, those dark whispers that curl through his mind like whispers on the wind. Thomas needs him. He might not know it or like it, but Thomas needs his Anxiety intact to keep going and Virgil needs to ignore the parts of his self doubt that imply otherwise.

Instead he has to focus on what he can do to help. And right now, he helps like this. Logan might not like him, but that doesn't change the fact that Virgil can't leave him hurting. Maybe, just maybe, it might even play to his advantage. Maybe if he helps them enough it will make Logan look at him for once and reconsider the views that had so clearly been formed about Anxiety. Maybe he will see him for what he wants to be. Hope is a dangerous thing but it beats in him nevertheless.

He can handle the extra pain. He _can_ do this. He has this under control.

Right?


	10. Royal milk tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It isn’t like Roman to be so quiet and while he appreciates the lack of hate being tossed his way, the coldness is just as unpleasant because it is different, it is Roman not being himself and pushing himself into a box that he doesn’t belong in. Virgil doesn’t want _that_. He doesn’t want the hate sure, but he also doesn’t want Roman to stop being himself and it makes his head and heart hurt just thinking about it."
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Patton cooks, Virgil realises his weakness and Roman learns Anxiety can give as good as he gets. (Logan just tries to stay out of it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know why I have chapter outlines, when the boys just run away with ideas and do what they want instead of what I have planned. Welcome to chapter ten and over eight thousands words of some angst, some fluff as we move towards the next video. 
> 
> Chapter title is of course, from the title of the awesome song _Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea_ by **Fall Out Boy**.
> 
> Huge thanks to flooftheriver for suggesting it for this chapter, she is wise and wonderful and you should check out her stories!

****

### **Royal milk tea**

**  
**

For someone who prides himself on his willpower and self restraint in the face of things he wanted, it turned out Virgil had none of those things when it came to Patton and his infernal puppy dog eyes. Or the bottom lip quiver and slight crack of his voice which really should not affect him as much as it does. Virgil has been able to say no and avoid any and all interaction with him before, so he doesn’t quite understand why it has suddenly become that much more harder. All he knows for sure is that when Patton asks him to do something he wants to do it - normally something innocent, something so benign that he can’t help but search the words for any hidden undertones, any ulterior motive to explain what is going on. He is paranoid, he knows, but it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

He doesn’t find any.

Either Patton is the best actor in the mind, better even than Roman himself, or there really is nothing to his words bar an honest desire to spend some time with Virgil. They are all good actors to a degree of course. Even Logan, for all that he claims not to understand theater. They can’t help it, not when being an actor is such a large part of who Thomas is. It shapes them all and he finds himself doubting every word and action because of it, wondering when the curtain will fall and the need to pretend will stop.

Then again, he is Anxiety. He would doubt everything, regardless of their acting skills. It is just the sort of thing he does.

Patton asks him to spend time with him and he wants to say yes, he wants to crumble. Patton is - not - his dad but he finds himself wishing otherwise. Which he had started to suspect of course. 

Possibly even worse than that - because, while it scares him, some part of him had long ago worked out he would be weak against Patton if Dad ever turned his attention back towards him - it turns out he is just as weak when it comes to Logan and the logical side making requests of him.

He needs to keep himself apart for his own sanity. Needs to just hide in this corner of Thomas’ mind that he has claimed as his own until he was needed, either to keep Thomas from doing something stupid or to take away a headache. It’s easier for everyone if Virgil just stays out of the way and so he doesn’t understand Patton or Logan. He doesn’t get why they seem to want to make it harder on themselves by trying to draw him out. Don’t they understand that he is doing them a favour by staying away from them all? He can’t let his negative traits affect the mind, he can’t corrupt them with his fears and all the anxiety that just builds and builds up inside of him. All he can do is push back to keep them on their toes when the need arises. 

He needs to protect them all. From him and just as importantly, from the pain. Virgil tries to mask it as best he can, tries to hide himself completely away on days like that. When he takes a headache and it is all he can do to curl on the floor, when he wants to bash his own brains in, when every movement, every sound just feels like a thousand tiny red hot needles stabbing themselves into his mind. He cannot let them see him so weak, so defenseless.

The pain, no matter how bad it gets, only reinforces his desire to make sure none of them have to feel this themselves. He cannot let them have a headache when they want to cry, when they want to hurt themselves just to make it go away. He cannot stand even the imaginary image of Thomas immobilized by the pain. Or Patton sobbing into a pillow wondering why it won't go away. Or Logan - he cannot bear to image Logan in a similar state to the first time he found him, unable to even read. To deprive the logical side of reading is just too cruel.

He just keeps taking and taking. Claiming every bad headache, every migraine as his own.

This is what he is supposed to do. This is his purpose. To protect, to carry the scars and pain so the others don't have to. If he wants to be with the Light Sides, if he wants to carry on pretending to be good, to be worthy, then he has to give them something back. He has to prove himself over and over. Until one day he proves himself enough? No, he knows there can never be a day when it is enough, never a day when he has paid off all their kindness by simply tolerating him, when he has made up for all the pain he has caused them and Thomas in the past. This isn't about trying to balance any imaginary scales, this isn't doing something for the hope of being redeemed. This is doing it because it is his job, because it is right, plain and simple.

Virgil just wishes it didn't hurt so much.

A lot of the time they linger on for hours, on a few very rare cases even days. The worst was the one that had calmed down from a blinding migraine where any light hurt to a lower level ache in his head that had gone on for nearly five days. He had nearly gone mad by the time it had finally left and given him peace. Virgil supposes it is partly to do with his terrible sleep schedule. Or lack of a sleep schedule. He sometimes passes out and that counts as sleeping surely. It is enough most of the time. Lack of sleep might be another reason why he is so weak against Patton or Logan.

The walls he tries to build up feel as though they are made of candyfloss. Delicate spun sugar that vanishes on the tip of the tongue the moment one of the bespectacled sides so much as looks at him.

And when Patton and Logan team up... well, Virgil has no chance. He doesn’t realise the effectiveness of the duo until they use it against him for the first time, Patton standing at his door, Logan a few steps behind him as though offering the moral side, moral support. 

Predictably, Virgil’s first thought had been he was in some kind of trouble.

Turns out, he was right, just not in the way he had expected. He had expected to be told off for something, fear starting to pound in his ears, heart rising to a thundering crescendo as his thoughts tumble over themselves, trying to work out what he could have done.

What if he had accidentally hurt Thomas and they were understandably mad about it? What if they had found out about the headaches and knew how much of a freak he was? What if they didn't want him around anymore, if the increased contact with him had been too much, and sorry Anxiety, you should go back to your old room, your old, so called friends. 

He can't go back, he can't, he can't. He won't go back to the dullness and misery and the nothingness that was his life there. When he had spent every moment either escaping or planning to escape. Even long before he had worked out that was what he was actually doing. He is sorry, he is so sorry, please, don't make him go back down there, please don't push him into that tiny little box where he has to claw himself free all over again. Virgil doesn't think he would have the strength to escape all over again, he knows he can’t take another rejection on that level, not again. 

He doesn’t want to be _bad_. He will do better now, whatever it was he did wrong, he will do it better so long as they give him another chance, and please, please give him another chance. 

The thoughts all fly through his mind like quicksilver, flashing in and out of his mind with a speed that would have left him dizzy if he wasn’t focused on trying not to have a full on panic attack right in front of them. Patton opens his mouth, Virgil trying his hardest not to cringe as he waits for the blow to fall. 

The words are not what he expects. 

They were going to have breakfast and wanted him to join them. There was a place set for him, Patton had cooked enough food for him and he was living here now, so it made sense that he should join them at the table for half an hour a day. At the very least he could sit down to eat those energy bars he seems to like so much if he doesn't want a cooked breakfast.

Virgil opened his mouth to say no, to shut down this strange request - and hesitates. 

Patton had just looked so earnest, so hopeful. His smile had been innocent, fragile as he waited and Virgil could read his thoughts on his face as easily as though the moral facet had spoken them aloud. The smile is not as real as usual, a slightly frozen hint to the expression as if he is waiting for the refusal. He expected Virgil to say no. He expected it and he knew it was going to hurt him if he said no and yet Patton asked him anyway. Even thinking that Virgil didn’t like his cooking, he had made something for him anyway. 

Virgil is a grumpy, anxious mess of a side, more likely to flip someone off than offer a hand or god forbid a hug. He’s not the sort of side you are supposed to invite to a family anything, he’s the one who enters the room and all the conversation dies down into an awkward hush. If there was a piano being played in the room as he enters then the person playing it would stop suddenly with a jankle of keys, out of tune, just like in the old Western movies. He is mean when the mood strikes him, perfectly capable of a stinging insult that will make even Princey suck in a sharp breath against the burn.

But he’s not completely heartless 

He isn't a monster

(He is and he knows it.)

He can’t be a monster again. It is so exhausting, to constantly snap and snarl so nobody can see his weak underbelly, so nobody can realise how small and frightened he actually is under it all. He plays the part so everyone sees Anxiety and nobody has to see Virgil. 

He says no and no and no, no, no, so many times, its always no. Forever no. 

Before he even realises, he is falling and just this once, he says yes.

Or, more accurately, he shrugs and mumbles a ‘whatever’ but Patton understands Virgil speak, better than Virgil himself and easily decodes it into a more enthusiastic agreement. Patton actually bounces on his heels at the word, hands lifting to clap together in pure glee. Virgil can’t decide if he should be flattered by the reaction or insulted by the lurking impression of being compared to a performing animal who was getting cheered for doing a trick correctly. 

Without seeming to think about it, Patton physically grabs Virgil by the arm, chattering away excitedly about the breakfast he has cooked. It is all Virgil can do to let himself be pulled along, to not jump away from the unexpected contact and flee back into his room. You can’t just... touch people like that. He has grown a little more used to Patton’s heat against him over the last few weeks, the random touches he insists on, the gentle affection he so freely gives out.

After a couple of paces, Logan lays a hand on Patton’s other arm, voice low and even as he calmly points out that grabbing someone as anxious as... well, Anxiety, without any warning is really not the correct way to go about things. Patton lets go of his arm with a sheepish expression, Virgil forcing himself to exhale, to make his frozen lungs work once more. Logan had noticed his discomfort and had... done something to make it less. It has to be part of some desire to make things even with them, to reward him for helping him through his headache.

He can’t understand the idea that they might be doing this for any other reason and this strange peace they have created is still too fragile, too new for him to ask any questions. As much as he wants to know the why, to challenge and demand to know if they suddenly like him, he doesn’t have the guts. Not when he could lose what little he has gained. 

And the little he has gained is still a feast of previously unimaginable proportions compared to what he had before.

Just as they said, there is a place set for him at the table, next to Patton and directly opposite Roman’s place it seems, considering Logan settles in the empty chair diagonally from him. It isn’t as though Virgil had thought they were lying about it, but believing them and actually seeing the truth with his own eyes is something else completely. 

Patton is beaming as he slouches into his seat, a steaming plate of bacon and eggs placed down in front of him, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice following a moment later, before Patton is moving away, a soft humming coming from his lips as he serves up Logan’s breakfast, then his own. Virgil doesn’t know how Patton knows he likes orange juice over anything else in the morning and frankly, he almost doesn’t care because no matter how he found out, he still made the effort to put that down in front of him instead of anything else.

If this was Deceit, it would all be part of some grand plan, some scheme to make him lower his guard, to relax enough that he would agree to whatever he had planned. Whatever ridiculous idea he had to try and make Thomas listen to them more, to bend the boy to their side over what Morality or Logic or Creativity might want. For a moment, he is sat in a different chair, in a different time with a completely different side bustling around the table, the air filled with how much better things would be once Thomas was filled with nothing but them. Virgil cannot move, every joint locked in place as he listens to this plan. Does he want this? He used to want this, and does that mean he should still? He is drowning under the weight of these words, every lie sinking into his skin and burning deep. Thomas should lie more, it will keep him safe, all they have do is pump him full of adrenaline and anxiety enough so that he lies and then he will get everything he wants. All they have to do is call Roman down before his breakfast gets cold and video ideas can wait for half an hour in order to keep him healthy.

Wait. 

Roman? 

The yellow scales on the side by the kitchen counter fade a little, glasses forming, frames becoming more defined with every blink. Patton. It’s Patton and he is not with him anymore. He is in the lighter areas of Thomas’ mind, he is safe. The more he learns about how Patton treats the others, how he tries to treat him, the more Virgil doubts that Deceit ever had his best interests at heart. 

_Patton is not Deceit_ , Virgil reminds himself harshly, hands slipping under the table for a moment to pinch at the skin on his arm. The stinging not only grounds himself back in the present time but also proves once and for all, that this isn’t some crazy dream his overworked brain has somehow imagined up.

If his hand is trembling a little as he pulls them back up above the table and then reaches out for the glass of orange juice then neither of them mention it. The juice is tart as he forces himself to swallow a mouthful, trying to keep his jitters at bay. It’s a good thing that it’s Patton of course, but that means that Roman is on his way and Virgil has no clue how he is going to react, nerves building in him as he tries not to stare too obviously at the doorway.

Princey all but bounds into the room like some demented gazelle. 

Some of the nerves fade away, annoyance blossoming in their place. It is so like Roman to be this energetic, this happy before he has eaten anything. And how dare he look that well groomed, that attractive right after getting out of bed? Virgil knows he looks like a half dead skunk and while that might be his chosen aesthetic, it still stings somewhat to see someone that perfect all the time.

It's just not fair that Roman looks this good, this early.

The royal skids to a stop at the table, one hand on the back of his chair, the other resting lightly against his chest, right above where his heart would be. 

“What is Judge Dread doing here?” He demands, voice indignant as his brown eyes flick from each side in turn as he waits for an answer.

Instantly, the nerves come back in full force. Virgil wishes he had thought to pull his hood up before Roman had entered the room, wishes he wasn’t sitting opposite his apparent seat. Wishes he hadn’t agreed to this in the first place because Roman was going to complain and then Patton was going to apologise and say to keep the peace perhaps it would be better if Anxiety skipped the make believe of being part of the breakfast club and went back to his room.

“He is here because I invited him down,” Patton tells Roman firmly. There is a note of steel in the parental sides voice that Virgil has never heard before, Virgil blinking a couple of times as the words themselves start to slowly sink in. Instead of sending him away, Patton is defending him. 

He is... picking Virgil... over _Roman_? 

Roman isn't happy about it. And Roman, being Roman, he has no problems with expressing his dislike of the sudden change at the table, arms swinging around as he goes off on a rant between bites of food.

Virgil sinks lower and lower into his chair. Idly, he wonders if he could just actually sink right out of the mind. Sure it would give Thomas a surprise to have his anxiety suddenly appear without any warning or reason but it would get Virgil out of this terrible breakfast. He pushes the pieces of bacon around on his plate without actually eating any of them, occasionally spearing one or cutting a piece into a smaller bit just so it looks as though he is doing something. So he can pretend to be part of this.

The breakfast smell delicious, his stomach churning and contracting painfully with want - and also fear. Because what if he takes a mouthful and it isn’t like that cupcake which had been delicious? What if - and this is more likely - what if it is like every meal Patton has made for him since they were seven and he tries to eat it only to feel the food turn to rocks in his stomach. Then again, it might be like the cupcake after all, might be perfect and he would be stuck by the need to take a photo to capture it.

Virgil can all but feel his phone burning in his pocket, the background still that incriminating photo of the cupcake. What if it falls out of his pocket? What if he opens it when one of them is the room? What if they somehow see the picture? What if they laugh at the evidence of just how pathetic and needy he is, that he would treasure and immortalise such a trivial as a single cupcake. They would realise just how often he looks at the picture and uses it to ground himself.

Belatedly, he realises he never thanked Patton for the treat. He’d never even told him it was good, or even that he had actually eaten it. He should tell him, Virgil glancing every now and then to his right, where Patton is sat, happily eating and chatting away. He doesn't seem to least bit perturbed by Roman’s ranting, apparently able to tune it out without a care in the world. Logan is ignoring Roman as well, nodding now and then and making a noise as if truly listening. Now would be the perfect time to talk to Patton, to thank him. He could just nudge him and speak to him quietly while Roman unwittingly distracted Logan.

The words always die on the tip of his tongue, a thousand ‘what if’s’ continuing to crowd into his mind. What if Patton didn't tell the other two about the cake? What if he didn’t want them to know? What if he already thought Virgil was rude and hated it? What if Virgil messes up and the words come out wrong, like they always seem to do with him. What if. What if...

Roman’s arms are spinning wildly as he gestures each and every word, his voice getting louder and faster as he demands to be heard and listened to. As he tries to present his case for why Anxiety is ruining breakfast and shouldn’t be here. If Virgil was feeling braver, he would have pointed out the fact the only one ruining breakfast right now was Roman, with his angry words. Then again, Virgil can’t even summon the courage to taste the food. 

In retrospect, Virgil knows he should have seen it coming. Just like so many things in his life. 

Roman’s arm swings out again in a dramatic pose, his sleeve catching at Virgil’s glass of orange juice and sending it flying. The orange juice splashes across the table, spilling over the clean white tablecloth, catching at Virgil’s hoodie as the glass bounces and falls off the table. Miraculously, it doesn’t break when it hits the floor, rolling to a stop against the leg of Patton’s chair.

“What the hell dude?” Virgil yelps, twisting to try and avoid the juice, as futile as it is. Yeah, his hoodie is black but its gonna stink and he will have to change and then wait for the right time to sneak it into the washing machine and added stress. It’s another laundry list of jobs to do.

Roman laughs. An obnoxious, carefree laugh. 

Virgil thinks he hates him a little bit more for how happy he is, how he makes a mistake and doesn’t go into an instant meltdown. How much stronger than Virgil he is.

“Oh relax Dark and Stormy! It's just a little bit of juice, it’s not going to kill you, unless you’re from Oz,” Roman tells him breezily, casually dismissing his accident as if it was nothing. He stops and takes a deep breath. Virgil can practically feel the temperature drop a few degrees as Roman leans forward a fraction. “Anyway, I would have thought you liked the colour yellow, it suits you so well, and you must see it all the time right?”

“Roman!” Patton scolds, but it is far too late. Roman sits back, a satisfied look in his eyes and it is all Virgil can do not to toss something at his stubborn, stupid head. The not so thinly disguised reference to Deceit makes something cold and heavy form in the pit of his stomach and all thoughts of even pretending to eat flee from his mind. 

He stands up, chair scraping harshly against the kitchen floor. Virgil can’t stay here, all eyes turned to him, all waiting for his response. His mind is racing, unable to settle, to decide if this is just friendly banter he is supposed to play along with - as Deceit would often use - or if Roman is being mean and so he is allowed to be upset in response. He doesn’t understand social interaction very well, Virgil has no practise. This whole breakfast idea was a complete and utter disaster. A mess and a waste of time that only proved he should have said no, should have kept the distance he has managed to build up over the years. Virgil doesn’t trust himself to reply as he stiffly walks out of the room, inwardly flinching at the delighted sound Roman makes as the ‘villain’ retreats once more.

He tells himself never again.

Come tomorrow morning he finds himself, somewhat to his bemusement, sat back at the kitchen table. He doesn’t even really know how it happened, how he had agreed to it, how he had ended up here once again. Virgil had been determined to say no and yet here he was, Patton bustling around behind him once more. A plate of waffles and cream is placed in front of him today, sweet instead of savoury. It makes something unpleasant squirm in his stomach, Virgil wondering if the change was because of him, because he hadn’t eaten yesterday. 

Roman is sat at his usual place, a sulky expression on his features. To Virgil’s increased bemusement, he doesn't say anything this morning about the anxious facet being here again. 

In fact, he doesn't say anything to Virgil for most of the meal, focusing instead on his own plate of waffles and the cup of tea that has been made for him. It isn’t like Roman to be so quiet and while he appreciates the lack of hate being tossed his way, the coldness is just as unpleasant because it is different, it is Roman not being himself and pushing himself into a box that he doesn’t belong in. Virgil doesn’t want _that_. He doesn’t want the hate sure, but he also doesn’t want Roman to stop being himself and it makes his head and heart hurt just thinking about it. Virgil can’t help but brood on the situation as he plays with his food, trying to make it look as though he was eating while wondering what was wrong with him, why he was upset Roman wasn’t being his normal ass self. 

Once or twice, he catches Patton watching Roman. And once or twice, he looks up to see Logan staring at him, eyes flickering between his face and his plate. It always makes Virgil flush deeper, hunching his shoulders up defensively and making a more concentrated effort to pretend to eat. He doesn’t want Logan saying anything, pointing out his flaws relentlessly, doesn’t want Patton to think he is being rude again, refusing to eat out of spite. Anything but that. Gingerly, he swallows a tiny bit of cream, hoping Logan will think he is eating the actual waffle as well while his thoughts run endlessly in a circle, a rat in a maze with no way out.

“Patton, can you pass me the sugar please?” Roman’s voice breaks through his thoughts, the first thing the fanciful side has said in a while. It’s enough to make him look up from the food he is playing with, watching the interaction.

“Sugar is in front of Anxiety, ask him,” Patton replies, voice a little too sweet, even for Morality. Something happened after he left the breakfast table yesterday between them all, something to do with him and he hates the idea that they might be fighting because of him. He really isn’t worth that. Virgil looks down and sure enough, near his left hand is the collection of condiments. Sugar, maple syrup and for some reason salt, accidentally left behind after their evening meal. That also, isn’t like them. Every time he’s crept into the kitchen after they have eaten, the table is pristine, like the rest of the room. He doesn’t know which of them cleans - he suspects Logan - but he likes it. Everything has a place and everything is returned safely to that place afterwards. Everything is where it belongs and here is the salt where it doesn’t.

“Pass the sugar,” Roman grunts, eyes dropping to stare at his plate. For a childish moment, Virgil considers refusing until Roman asks him properly. Manner cost nothing after all. Or passing the sugar to Patton, to pass to Roman.

He’s not a kid.

He hands him the salt instead. 

Roman doesn’t even look at the object in his hands, still half asleep. The other half of him is still busy ignoring Virgil, refusing to acknowledge his presence as if some flipping ghost had handed him the object. He doesn’t thank him either and so Virgil doesn’t feel any guilt as he watches him pour an unholy amount of salt into his tea. Or any desire to stop him as Roman lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a large mouthful.

The face Roman makes as he spits the tea back into his mug is priceless and something he is going to treasure for a long time to come. As though the tea itself has personally betrayed him, Roman staring down at it with wide, wounded eyes. Virgil can practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes as he tries to wake up enough to understand. Roman looks from his mug, to the discarded salt shaker and then across the table to the sugar that sits innocently by the plate before slowly lifting those same, wide eyes, to stare at Virgil.

Virgil bares his teeth in what could only be very charitably be called a smile. Roman returns the look with a scowl, his whole body puffing up as he prepares to go on a rant and declaim himself as the innocent party. 

“Now now, settle down,” Patton warns, interrupting Roman before he can say a word, that same steel in his voice from the day before, and instinctively, Virgil flinches and finds himself doing just that, eyes dropping back down to his plate instead of trying to carry on picking a fight with Roman. “Let’s just try and have a nice meal together okay? Just once. No more pranks.”

He isn’t demanding that Virgil apologise to Roman for some reason. Good. Because Virgil knows he doesn’t have it in him to say sorry, not after their mini fight the day before. Roman never apologises for anything he does after all, nobody ever expects that from the Prince. Virgil should be happy but something still feels off about the whole meal, something setting him on edge but he can’t pin it down into anything that could be put into words. He scowls down at his plate, lost in thought.

A spoonful of cream sails through air, hitting him square in the nose. 

Virgil freezes in shock, brain suddenly sluggish, unable to comprehend what had happened, and dimly, he knows his expression must mirror that of Roman’s when he had been trying to work out why his tea had tasted so foul. The cream drips off his nose.

Slowly, he lifts his head to stare at the creative side sitting opposite him. Roman is looking to side, examining the fridge as though it has all the answers to the mystery that is the universe in it. Virgil narrows his eyes, watching him closely. After a pause, Roman starts whistling. Actual nonchalant whistling. He couldn't be more obvious if he had tried. 

No. This will _not_ stand.

Virgil scoops a spoonful of cream from his own plate and flicks it expertly across the table, smacking Roman just below the eye. For a second, he could have sworn the smile Roman had on his face was something genuine before another bit of cream comes flying back at Virgil. In a matter of moments it descends into near anarchy, food flung madly across the table, each giving as good as they got.

“Settle down!” Patton yells - Patton _yells_. Patton never raises his voice, Virgil freezing completely in mid throw. The cream slowly drips down the spoon, trailing past his fingers to pool in a slowly melting puddle on the tablecloth. The moral side is standing by the table, trembling slightly as he looks at them both. “I just wanted a nice family meal. One. Nice. Meal.”

That, Virgil feels, was his first mistake. If he wanted a family meal, then he shouldn’t have invited the embodiment of Anxiety. A pity invite was always going to end badly, and you didn’t invite the outsider unless you wanted it to end badly. 

Virgil wants to run again, wants to avoid all social interactions. He knows he can't be what Patton wants, he can’t give him the family meal that he seems to so desperately need. But Virgil can at least admit to his mistakes, can try and fix what little he can by cleaning away his mess before Patton even asks. He keeps his head ducked down low as he goes, grateful for the way in which his hair fell over his eyes. It’s another shield to try and protect himself with as he does his job. Roman shuffles around on the other side of the table, also cleaning to the best of his own ability. Virgil doesn’t so much as allow himself to look in the other side’s direction, and as soon as the kitchen is clean, he flees, breath tight and catching in his chest.

Virgil doesn't join them for breakfast the next day despite Patton knocking.

Or the day after.

Or the day after that.

The next day dawns with the same thought in mind, the same determination to be strong. He had tried okay? He had done more than he thought capable of, he had sat down for two meals and both of them had been terrible trainwrecks but at least he knows. No more doubts, more torturing himself, wanting to give in. At least he knows for sure now that he can’t have that, that it is foolish and pointless. At least he has the truth, no matter how deeply its raw edges dig and cut into him. There is some kind of sick satisfaction to be had from knowing for sure it won’t work. It hurts so bad, but at least he knows. At least he can dredge these memories back up when his heart starts being foolish and thinking he can have something with the Light Sides. 

He ignores Patton’s knocking again, hands pressed tightly over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the noise. Knees are drawn up against his chest as he sits huddled on his bed, just trying to wait it out. Eventually he will give up and go downstairs, just like the days before. And eventually, as much as it hurts, Virgil knows Patton will give up and stop asking all together. As expected, he shuffles away after a while and Virgil tries not to compare the footsteps, to think how different they sounded this morning - slow, dragged - compared to when he had gone down with Virgil for the first breakfast - fast, light, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Patton will get over it. He has to get over it. 

A second knock has him frowning, hands slowly lowering from his head to stare at the door. This knock is nothing like Patton’s. It almost dances across the wood, as though following some pattern that is invisible to the naked eye, tracing a design on it. Virgil bites at his lip before carefully unfolding himself from the the bed. Cautiously, he creeps towards his door, opening it a crack.

To his astonishment, Roman is standing on the other side. The creative side doesn't look happy to be there but at the same time, he doesn’t seem as if he has been forced to be here, Virgil’s eyes flickering up and down the hallway to see nobody else in sight. Roman even looks... slightly less perfect than normal, hair just a little bit messed up, as though he had been running a hand through it recently.

“Are you coming down for breakfast?” Roman asks, when it becomes clear that Virgil isn’t going to either say anything or open the door further to let him in. Virgil just scoffs, disbelief in the sound as he starts to close the door once more. Hand shoots out, just as fast, slamming against the wood and blocking his retreat, stopping him from closing it completely. Virgil could keep pushing of course, could start another fight and kick up a fuss until Princey eventually lets him close his own door, but he doesn’t have the energy for that and perhaps a small part of him wants to know why Roman is really here. He is just too tired for this this morning. 

“It’s making Patton sad,” Roman explains and ah, of course. It isn’t as though he wants Virgil there or anything that ridiculous. He just wants Patton to stop hurting, wants to be the hero here and make everything all better. Everything except him because he wants Virgil to play the bad guy yet again and take the blame for Patton being sad.

“No,” Virgil hisses, his anger easily rising up in him and he has had enough of this. He can almost feel his back arch up like an angry feline and Virgil might have been tired and not wanting to fight but that was before Roman tried to use Patton against him. “You do not get to try and play the guilt card with me, Princey. You started it, if Morality is sad, then it’s your fault too!”

It was his own fault. Always his own fault. He could have been the better man, could have just passed the sugar and been done with it. Could have folded and let Roman have his own way, save his energy for the more important fights, when he needs to defend Thomas. Could have. Maybe should have. It was selfish of him, he knew, to want just once, for Roman to be nice to him. To think a little about his words and actions before he actually did them. Then again, that is hardly Roman’s way.

“Oh please, it was an accident, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” Roman replies, words pointed.

 _Yeah_ , Virgil thinks. _Maybe it was an accident but what you said after, that was on purpose. You never wanted me there to start with, all that complaining, that was on purpose._

“Whatever,” he mumbled instead. He lifts a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck and he hates how much he cares, how much he wants to make sure Patton is happy again. How he even wants to cheer Roman up a little, wants to make him strut confidently once more. Virgil wants to fix this but it involves fixing himself and he knows that is an impossible task. 

“Just go okay? Tell Morality you tried or something. He'll get over it eventually... right?” Virgil cringes as he accidentally lets slip his own doubts and insecurities, hating how soft his voice had gotten on that last word. It betrayed how much he needed Patton to get over it. 

Roman sighs, something heavy and almost pained in the breath, hand lifting and yes, running through his hair, messing the locks even more out of place. 

“Look, all I'm saying is it's too early for fighting so... truce during breakfast? Just during breakfast of course,” Roman adds, looking uncharacteristically nervous. 

Virgil wants to say yes. So many of his personal rules are being broken, time after time, putting want ahead of need, letting himself have these moments. All because of how intoxicating it is to spend time with them. It drains him so much and yet he finds himself wanting more, needing more. No matter how bad it gets, its still better than the complete absence of anything which is his alternative. 

Still, he can't help but hesitate, torn between the extremes.

“What...” Virgil’s voice comes out quieter than he wanted, and he paused for a second to clear his throat before continuing on, voice steady. “What if he hasn't made enough food? I don't want to put him on the spot.”

Sure, Patton had knocked on his door to invite him to breakfast, but Virgil hadn't replied and so Patton had gone downstairs without him. He would have just made the normal breakfast for the three of them. It would be embarrassing if Virgil then decided to show up after that. Knowing Patton, he would insist on sharing hos breakfast and would only have half of his food, and then he wouldn't get to eat enough. They might be imaginary - and come to think of it, the food might be imaginary too - but the placebo effect seemed to be in full swing for the sides. They felt the lack of food as if it was a real thing.

“You're kidding right?” Roman asks, giving Virgil a look that he can't quite decipher. It is something between annoyance and near fondness - that last part has to be directed at Patton over him. Roman sighs softer this time, looking away for a moment as though debating to himself before giving a small little nod at nothing in particular and looking back at him. 

“Anxiety... Patton will have made enough for you. He always does.”

What?

“What?” Virgil stuttered, voicing his confused thoughts after a moment when it became clear there wasn't going to be more to his words and Roman made no sense whatsoever. Patton made him breakfast? All these years? And then, what... threw it away at the end of the meal when it became apparently Virgil wasn’t going to appear? “But... but that's such a waste of food!”

“I know! That's what I've always said!” Roman agreed brightly, a smile on his face, pleased to have someone agree with him on this, even if was just Virgil. He hasn’t changed in that regard, he always needs someone to validate his words or his work, always needs that extra little reminder of how wonderful he is. 

Virgil can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“I mean...” Roman trails off, a frustrated look on his face as he mentally rewound his words, finding fault with them himself. “I didn't mean... look, it doesn't matter what I meant. We had a couple of battles, we fought each other to a draw and it's done.” 

Virgil sucks in a sharp breath of surprise at that. It’s not the fact that Roman is mentioning the fights, he knows for all his faults, Roman is brave, bold and will not dance around a subject but confront them head on. He isn’t like Virgil who would never have mentioned them first. No, the fact Roman has brought them up so readily isn’t the thing that surprises him.

It’s the fact that he isn’t fighting to be the victor. He doesn't want to straight up slay him, he doesn't want the gold star, the first place. Roman always needs to be the winner and yet for the sake of peace, for the sake of Patton, he is willing to claim they had fought to an equal level with neither getting bragging rights over the other. 

Sometimes, he forgets how much they all love Patton. Sometimes he forgets that at his core, Roman is a good guy. 

Princey grins, as though sensing Virgil giving in, pulling his hand back and giving him the chance to slam the door in his face if he wants. Virgil doesn’t take it and Roman’s smile gets wider. 

“Now come on, I think it's French Toast today.”

Awkwardly, Virgil trails after Roman, not sure what else to do. The little voice in the back of his mind keeps pointing out that it is a trick, of course it is a trick. Why would Roman have come to his room unless it was to get his own back, to pull another prank and claim victory. This whole thing was just an elaborate prank and Virgil was going to walk in to find no food. Another little voice, quieter, but equally determined, disagrees. Whatever Roman thinks about him, however much he must hate him, he would never doing anything deliberately to hurt Patton and embarrassing Patton like that would hurt him. That voice gives Virgil the courage to walk into the kitchen. Patton’s face lights up as though he was the sun at the sight of them both, something so pure and blinding that Virgil wants to throw up his arm to try and create some shade. He almost trips over his own feet rushing to pull back the chair for Virgil to sit down on as though afraid he was going to leave as suddenly as he arrived. 

There is enough food for Virgil. Not leftovers or pieces snatched from the other plates to try and make an extra portion. Just... another portion, made for him.

The breakfast isn't great. Neither Roman nor Virgil say much during it, conversation stilted and limited to just replying to any questions sent their way. In Virgil’s case it's mostly as polite as he can manage, refusals. No, he doesn’t need any more food, or any more drink, no he doesn’t need anything, he is fine. But there is no fight that breaks out, no accidents or nasty comments slipping out between food, Patton almost vibrating on his chair in excitement as the minutes passed and nobody raised their voices or left the table.

Virgil even manages to nibble a corner of one of his pieces of toast before the meal is finally considered over and he can scrape his leftovers into the bin, plate neatly washed up. He insists on doing the dishes, and Virgil needs to do something to show his appreciation. It can’t be in words, words will just betray him, so actions will have to do. 

Patton enthusiastically thanks him when he starts to wash up, the words making him blush deeply and hunch further into his hoodie, unsure of what to say in response. Patton doesn't seem to expect anything more, a final pat on the back before he leaves Virgil to the dishes. Logan’s words are more subdued but he can tell the logical side is genuine in his appreciation. Roman merely looks down his nose at him and walks out without a single word. Right. The truce was only for breakfast. Every plate is neatly stacked away before he lets himself leave the kitchen to retreat to his own room, a warm, weird feeling in his stomach. It’s not the anger or sadness of previous mornings, not that heavy tightness that had stolen his breath the last time he had cleaned and left. It’s something far more dangerous than that. It’s hope.

Maybe he will come down again tomorrow morning.

Maybe. He needs to sort through all the confusing emotions in his mind first, try and work out what had just happened. Virgil wants a couple of hours of peace, just a few hours where he can unpick every second of today’s breakfast, compare it to all the broken down moments of the previous days and decipher some of the hidden meanings within.

So of course, he doesn’t get that.

He feels the stirring of anxiety, the tug as Thomas unconsciously tries to summon him. It seems as though his manifester is trying to deal with an issue and just thinking about it is making him nervous. Virgil doesn’t flinch a little at knowing it is an unconscious call, that there is no way that Thomas would ever willingly want his help. He doesn’t let it hurt him. He can’t afford to.

He’ll deal with the confusion of the breakfast and their weird little interactions with him later, his own problems pale into insignificance compared to looking after his host. 

Right now he needs to take care of Thomas and his latest issue. Something about... oh geeze. Valentine’s Day. Of course. It wasn't as though he was unaware the day was coming up, but he had been trying his very best to ignore it in the hope that if Anxiety was not focused on it, then maybe, just maybe, the day could slip by without drawing too much attention to itself.

Instead Thomas had managed to get obsessed and worry about the holiday all on his own. The last thing Virgil wants to think about is love - or in his case, the painful lack of it in his life - so of course that was the subject that was going to start eating away at Thomas. 

As if Thomas had anything to worry about when it came to finding love. 

He is a handsome, charming, witty, sweet young man and Virgil doesn't understand why he is getting so worked up over this cheap, commercial holiday. Not when he knows he can do so much better than a panic date, scraped together at the last minute just because the pressures of the real world and its insistence that you had to have a romantic partner on this specific date because... reasons. They were gay, it wasn’t like they had bowed down to other so called society norms. 

There wasn’t even anyone Thomas was properly attracted to right now for crying out loud! It would literally be a date for the sake of a date and that didn’t seem fair to either Thomas or the poor schmuck he convinced to go on the date with.

Virgil doesn't like it much better when Thomas actually dates people he really likes of course, all the added pressure of having to impress someone day in day out, having to plan dates, presents, spending all your time with another person. It runs him into the ground, the endless effort, the need to try and pretend to be _normal_ , to not get worked up over every tiny little thing and so in turn, keep Thomas from getting worked up over stupid little things. And then worrying that he wasn’t making enough of an effort - or was he making too much, and suffocating them with his presence? 

Dating someone is _hard_. But worth it, worth it to know Thomas was happy. Letting his host get worked up over something so pointless is just going to cause more stress and pain down the line. He has to do something to help. He has to be Anxiety once more, Virgil pushed roughly to the back of his mind. 

Time to go and stop Thomas from making a fool of himself once more. Maybe he can nip the whole thing in the bud. Maybe he will be lucky and he can just get Thomas to focus on something else without it becoming a performance and fight with the others.


	11. Little souvenir of a terrible year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, they hate him. They hate him. The voice in his head laughs, of course they all hate him. They have to hate him. Logan couldn’t even bring himself to say anything. Roman had made a joke about his face, his stupid, red and white face and Patton..."
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> Two steps forward, one step back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Warning:** There is a fairy nasty anxiety attack at the start of this chapter, that lasts for a while so please be aware. We are back on the angst train I'm afraid. This chapter covers the time of the _Alone on Valentines Day_ video, quotes taken from it of course belong to the series. 
> 
> Thank you all for all the kind comments and kudos you guys leave, it just warms my soul to know you are still reading and enjoying this, and I hope you all enjoy this one too.
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Here's Where the Story Ends_ by **The Sundays** [Although its been covered a lot and you should listen to one of the versions at least.]

****

### **Little souvenir of a terrible year**

**  
**

_“You’re implying that you love us!”_

The words ring round and round his head, growing louder and louder until they drown out every other thought in his mind. The ghostly echoes of Patton’s voice chase him no matter where he goes. Even wrapped up in all his blankets, noise canceling headphones blaring out Fall Out Boy he can still hear the gleeful accusation. The look on Patton’s face is tattooed across the inside of his eyelids so that he sees it in every blink. The gasp, the point, it crystallized in his mind into something that is far worse than the actual moment, something mean and awful. 

He can feel his face grow redder and redder, shame growing in him as though it was a living, breathing thing. 

Virgil knows that Patton hadn’t meant to humiliate him. That his intentions had been the complete opposite, that the moral side had just been so thrilled by the idea that maybe his kindness was paying off. He knows that Patton would just want to hug away all the bad thoughts given the chance. He knows that he is letting his own thoughts run away from him, that he is changing the memory, warping it out of all recognition. He knows if he spoke to Patton, the moral side would almost fall over himself in a bid to apologise for any fault, real or imagined. 

He knows all this, he knows, he _knows, heknowsknowskno-_

_“You’re implying that you love us!”_

A faint whine slipped out of his mouth as he sat there, something low and pained. As though a balloon had been popped and the air was slowly escaping. Deflating. He was deflating, sinking down as if he could just vanish under all the blankets he had constructed around himself. As if he could become nothing on his bed and maybe then all the thoughts would go away. He is as empty and as sad as the little piece of rubber that was all that remained of a popped balloon.

His own mind continues to attack him, refusing to give him any respite. Patton’s voice becomes shriller in his thoughts, anger creeping into them. Desperately, he tries to hold onto the real memory, tries to keep it away from all the shadows that stain every other thought of his but to no avail. It doesn’t help that Virgil can almost see it happening, can feel the darkness rotting away at the memory. 

It is like fire spreading across a photo, crackling and popping as it goes, creating holes that grow ever larger before the fragile paper is pulled to safety and what is left is little more than an ash stained after image of what had been.

Knowing that it isn’t a real memory anymore, that it is tainted doesn’t give him the strength to ignore it. It doesn’t give him the power to chase it away and the fake Patton continues to boom through his mind.

The memory of how visibly excited Patton had been warps, distorting into disbelief, disgust. A sick kind of taunting and Patton had been making fun of him. Of course Patton had been making fun of him, Anxiety was not supposed to feel things like love. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything positive, he was just supposed to suffer. 

Virgil - Anxiety, Anxiety, he doesn’t get the luxury of a real name, he doesn’t deserve a real name, he’s not a real boy, he’s not anything. Anxiety is nothing but a monster who tried to hide his scars, a wolf in sheep's clothing ripping at the seams. In his head, Patton’s smile turns frozen, slightly wobbly. He looks as though he is a second away from throwing up, as his words sink into his mind and realization dawns. 

_“You... you’re implying that you love us?”_

He had to fix this, he had to convince them otherwise, he had to make it stop hurting and yet all Anxiety had managed to do in the end was make it that much worse. 

His denial had barely sounded believable, even to his own ears. A soft and weak no that reminded him of a cat rolled on its back and offering its tummy up to anyone who might pass, feebly mewing some denial while accepting the touches on offer. 

Pathetic.

Pitiful.

Unworthy.

He was sick and feeble and how could they stand to be around him? How could anyone stand to be around him? 

...

Well, the answer to that was obvious. They didn't want to be around him at all, he was forever pushing himself on them, was following them around and showing up during recordings like some love sick puppy that doesn’t know when it wasn't wanted. He pushed and pushed so of course, occasionally they would give in. Not even Roman was able to battle a fiend twenty four hours a day, sometimes it was just easier to allow him to join in that push him away yet again. 

He’s Hansel and Gretel following the trail of breadcrumbs all the way back to the house no matter how many times they try to leave him in the woods. 

Why can’t he just take the hint already?

_“Look, his face is so red underneath that white foundation!”_

Oh god, Roman.

He had been there too, had made it worse because of course he had made it worse. He had to join in the easy teasing - the taunting, the cruel, mean, vicious taunting, Roman gleefully tearing him to shreds with every word. Roman is never going to let him live it down. He’s never going to let him forget it and he’s going to tell him how disgusting he is, how impossible and no, he can’t have Roman saying those things, he can’t have Roman voicing all the dirty thoughts that spin around his own head, he can’t have that voice in his head turn into Roman’s voice. 

He’s amazed Roman didn’t fall over laughing right there and then. He’s just going to laugh every time he sees him now, is going to bring it up at every possible moment, just to make Anxiety squirm. Just to make his breath quicken and catch. Just to make him suffer. All Roman wants to do is make him suffer, it’s why he calls him names all the time, it's why he always sighed and moaned whenever Anxiety appeared, it’s why he invited him to breakfast and arranged the truce - 

No, they hate him. They hate him. The voice in his head laughs, of course they all hate him. They have to hate him. Logan couldn’t even bring himself to say anything. Roman had made a joke about his face, his stupid, red and white face and Patton... 

_“I can’t believe you’re implying that you love us. You cause nothing but pain! You don’t know what love is! You disgust me!”_

...

_“You cause nothing but pain!”_

... No.

“You don’t know what love is!”

No!

_“You disgust me!”_

_**No!** _

Patton hadn’t said that. He hadn't said any of that and certainly not in that tone. Not Patton, yes Patton, not Patton, yes Patton.

Not... Patton. 

Not his Patton. His Dad. He is in too much of a state to worry about denying himself the title right now. Everything feel a lot smaller, a lot more contained, as if the world has constricted sharply around him, leaving him alone with nothing but the blankets. In a way, everything feels simpler. As though everything that makes him... him, is being stripped away with every passing moment.

He feels like a child again. As though he is seven years old and none of the mistakes of the past have happened yet. Everything old is new again. 

Anxiety just wants his Dad. Tears burn in his eyes, only just then realising that he had closed them. The salty tears sear along his eyes, tracing across the join where his eyelids are pressed tightly together as though they might burn everything away. He wants everything to be burnt away, wants every sick and wrong thought or action to be consumed by fire. Thomas would be better if he wasn’t here, if he just didn’t exist. If he didn’t have to deal with an overactive anxiety that couldn’t control himself. 

He can’t do this anymore. 

_“You’re implying that you love us!”_

Patton’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Not the warped, angry voice that his mind has turned it into. Not the one which makes him want to cringe and recoil from it, makes him want to beg Patton to forgive him. Not the voice some part of him feebly remembers is fake. Not that voice.

Just Patton’s voice. 

The genuine warmth in the sentence breaks over him, the tide surging back in but there is no fear of drowning now, no terror that he is going to be pulled out to sea and lost in the endless expanse. He is wrapped in the heat that is those words, the love that shines through as Patton bounces and cheers, nothing but honesty in every word. Patton is delighted at the idea that Anxiety might care. Not disgusted. Not angry. Delightled.

He gasps, drawing in a ragged breath of air, the first air in what feels like an eternity. Air catches in his lungs, Anxiety, arching, gagging and gasping but he forces himself to try again, to take a deep lungful of air. It comes in a little easier than before, still catching and making him hiccup, sobs mindling with the noise but he is breathing at least. 

He breathes out.

Slowly, Anxiety recedes. Just a little, he is the sea and the tide is going out, leaving Virgil washed up on the shore of life once more. Virgil. He is Virgil. Thomas gave him that name and Thomas needs him. Thomas listened to him eventually and he has to keep going. He can’t give up, he can’t - won’t - abandon Thomas. 

Virgil shakes and shakes on the bed, fingers clamped tightly around his headphones. The tips are probably turning white but he can’t seem to muster the coordination needed in order to actually move them.

He sits there long after the shaking has faded away, makeup smeared and ruined by the tears that have poured from his his eyes, and somewhere along the way he has opened them, letting more and more water spill out. He can’t think about that. He can’t think about how long he has been sat here in a huddled heap and nobody came - nobody came, nobody came, nobody came - of course nobody came, nobody knew and he has done such a good job of pushing them all away that they wouldn’t even think of checking on him, because they didn’t think anything was wrong. 

No! He is climbing out of this hole. Not jumping back in.

Breath out.

And breathe in. 

Exhaling, Virgil forces himself to breathe out once more, steadier this time. With each inhale and exhale, he feels himself start to sink back into his form, feels the colours start to bleed back into the word, the various shades of black, the hints of white and the purple on his bed. He counts every swirl on the blanket beside him, every flick of purple against black. He counts every spider on his curtains, timing his breathing as he does and each eight legged friend makes it easier and easier until, quite simply, Virgil is back.

All the confusing, contradictory feelings and thoughts return too but at least he doesn’t have his own mind screaming outright hate at him. Virgil will take the confusion of not understanding his life over those dark and - at the time - seemingly never ending moments when he hates his life. When his mind is the enemy, intent on destroying him and there is nothing he can do but let it run its course.

There is no feeling in his fingers. He can feel the absence keenly now. Slowly, he pulls his fingers away from the headphones, one digit at a time. They are white and stiff, Virgil hissing sharply in pain as he shakes them, trying to get the blood flowing back to the tips. The pain almost helps, grounds him back in this moment and he is in his room, on his bed after weeping over someone accusing him of having feelings.

Wow, he’s a complete moron. 

Virgil knows there is a lot more he has to deal with, a lot he needs to process and a lot of work he still needs to do but the panic attack has left him utterly drained and barely able to move. Virgil should deal with everything. Should. But right now, isn’t going to. Sleep. He’ll sleep instead. The problems are still going to be waiting when he wakes up, looming over him like some terrible... looming... thing. He’s too drained to even think of a proper thing to be afraid of, too worn out to find anything to worry about right now.

He slumps sideways, not even bothering to reposition himself on the bed as he slips into something that is more akin to unconsciousness rather than a healthy sleep.

Four hours later, he wakes from the nap, his throat dry and aching, his eyes stinging and feeling like crap. Still feeling rough, still a moron, still here. Progress of a sort. Fumbling, Virgil reaches for the bottle of Dr. Pepper that is by his bed. The screw on lid seems a greater struggle than normal as he fights with it for a few moments, muttered curses under his breath. Finally opening it feels like a victory and while it may be a small one, it is still a victory and Virgil feel as though he should hold onto that thought over anything else. 

Water would be better but water means moving and Virgil knows he is nowhere near ready for that. Not to mention he might run into another side while leaving his room and he is too tender right now for either the positivity of Patton or the negativity of Roman. Even the cool, calm behaviour of Logan would be too much to handle, because it is too easy for Virgil to misread Logan’s words as patronising or cruel when he is simply being honest. No, he can’t handle seeing any of them right now.

He slowly picks up his phone, unlocking the screen. For a couple of moments he delays the inevitable as he swipes through the various apps on his phone, checking on his social media pages and the various little clicker games he plays to keep himself distracted. There isn’t a lot to do and while he knows he could easily lose himself in doing nothing for hours... it’s not the right time. Virgil needs to do his job, he can play and distract himself from his thoughts later.

It’s the last thing he wants to do but he knows it is the next thing he needs to do. He needs to watch the video, he needs to see what had happened verse his memory of what had happened. The video isn’t finished yet, but he can log onto the shared network inside Thomas’ head and convince him to watch the raw cut. As much as he hates watching himself on video - so pale, top pale, so cringy, so rude, no wonder everyone hates him - he doesn't mind watching the videos themselves because it gives him the perfect chance to stare at the other sides, to stare at Thomas, without any of them noticing or thinking how much of a freak he is.

Can he watch the video without another attack? It’s so weak of him, to have freaked out over one little sentence and yet here he is, about to watch a video that has that very scene in it. It was as though he was trying to make himself ill again, torturing himself by seeing what they really thought of him. Resolutely, he pushes those thoughts away, he has to be strong, so he can watch the other shine. He needs to see the others shine as they deserve to. 

He needs to work out what went wrong so he can do better next time. 

\--

After watching it, he couldn’t help but feel the video had been a complete disaster for him yet again. The simple fact that it had been a video had been bad enough, and then just when he had thought he had cut the whole thing off neatly, Patton had showed up to argue his point. All Patton wanted was love and Virgil couldn’t blame him for that of course but he didn’t need to be so desperate and obvious about it, Thomas had some pride.

Then the other two had showed up and of course all three of them had disagreed with him. All three had wanted Thomas to chase a love that wasn’t there, had wanted him to find someone, anyone just so long as he wasn’t alone on Valentine’s Day. Who cared? Virgil was alone every day, and had been for most of his life and he was fine.

He was fine. 

Thomas wasn’t going to end up like him anyway. They just needed to bide their time, needed to let it happen normally, naturally instead of getting obsessed over this. There were far better things to be getting obsessed about after all. Thomas was going to be fine.

Virgil was also the first one to leave, chased away yet again, this time by feelings and it hadn’t slipped his notice that he was the only one Thomas’ hadn’t given some kind of farewell to, the only one he hadn't acknowledged. It had been a terrible video.

Patton had said he loved him.

Okay. Maybe it hadn’t been all bad. They had ignored him of course, and he had fought with them all in a bid to make them just listen to him once. They wouldn’t even let him explain why - and really, he shouldn’t need to explain why the whole thing was pointless and stupid and just making more work for him by working Thomas up to such an agitated state. 

Thomas had eventually listened to him. In the end, Thomas had actually picked what he had wanted and suggested over all the ridiculous ideas the others had. The only way to win was not to play and they had to just let it happen, when it wanted to happen. Plus, it had just been weird, seeing them all trying to flirt with a woman, no matter how sweet actual Valerie was. In all honesty, he had wanted to help, but his words had been born of pure frustration, not thinking about helping in that moment only in making them listen. Virgil knows how to make them listen, how to be the scariest thing in the room so they have no choice but to listen but he hadn’t wanted to do that, hadn’t wanted to lose the... whatever he had. He hadn’t wanted to lose the breakfasts, despite them being so new, and a change to his life. 

Normally change was bad. If it changed again, it would be bad and he hadn’t wanted to risk that happening. Not on something like this anyway. Not unless he absolutely had to. But, Virgil didn’t know how else to express himself, and the self frustration had crystallized into pointing out how stupid everything was, how stupid they were and they didn’t need all this pressure over one stupid day. Somehow, it had worked. Thomas had listened. They had all listened and he hadn’t needed to use his real voice, hadn’t needed to be the worst just to keep them safe. 

And then, the first bomb had been dropped. 

Thomas had insisted they all say I love you to each other.

Each of them, in their own way, had managed it and he had stupidly assumed he wouldn’t need to. After all, Thomas couldn’t possibly have meant to include his anxiety in that order. There was no way he could have wanted the embodiment of all his fears and worries to say that despite of all of that, he loved them.

Turns out, that was exactly what Thomas had meant. 

For those few seconds, they had all looked at him. All smiles and smirks and easy teasing, a wiggle of shoulders and hips as they expected him to follow their lead. Each of them had managed to say ‘I love you’ in their own ways, directed at all of them. Including Virgil. They had said they loved him... on purpose.

It made no sense.

They had even seemed pleased at the idea that Virgil loved them back and he rewinds the video to watch that moment again, just to make sure he hadn't snapped again and was remembering things incorrectly. It plays as he remembers it, Patton gently cajoling him, the other two all smiles and little raises of eyebrows. They certainly seemed pleased on the video. Probably so they could tease him about it later, once the rush of endorphins had worn off and they realised the loser freak was actually being serious. 

For a long, agonizing moment, he allows himself to believe the other sides and their declarations of love. 

Patton’s easy and heartfelt words, the way he seemed to be unable to contain himself, as though the love he was feeling was just too much for his body to handle. As if he was about to conjure up hearts and flowers to fill the whole room with a physical representation of his love. Virgil knew he would be doing a lot of baking once they got back into the mind, would have expressed his love in the form of delicious treats. Along with offering hugs to anyone he could reach, and Virgil could dimly remember hearing Patton behind him as he had fled to his room, breath becoming shorter and shorter. He shivers - although if it is out of relief or disappointment, he can’t tell - at the thought of getting out of that hug. A shame he had ended up having a bad anxiety attack instead and then sleeping, he no doubt has missed any baked goods on offer. 

Logan’s confusion as he tried to work out exactly what he was saying, not sure how to express such a strong feeling when he tried so hard to deny he even had them. The way he had stumbled over insults because he didn't understand the need to say it in the first place, why anyone needed to express such feelings. He enjoyed their company, it was obvious by the way he continued to be around them to experience said company and that should suffice. He’d still tried bless him. 

Roman’s backhanded compliment, the way he had been unable to help himself, had to make a comment in how hot he was even as he told them that he cared and that they were all so handsome. So long as they all knew he was the most handsome one of them all. Virgil knows he didn’t mean anything cruel by it, it was just the way he was, wanting people to love him while offering that love back in turn. Although his statement had been confusing. 

Like Logan said, they all had the same face. But at the same time, Roman was right too. There were differences to them all, glasses, make up, posture, the way they did their hair. Thousands of tiny little differences that made each of them unique if you took a moment to look and look, Virgil has. Roman was right in another way too, Logan and Patton were handsome, just not as handsome as him. He was the Prince after all, of course he was going to be the handsome and gallant one. Just as Virgil was the ugly step daughter of the fairy tale.

He lets himself feel it, lets himself bathe in the glow of the love. Each had expressed themselves so different and yet it had been so perfectly them. It had been full of meaning, full of affection, no barbed sting in the tail just waiting to rip into you. Virgil can't help but smile softly as their love wraps around him almost like a physical hug. Is this what it is like to be liked? To be loved? He glories in it.

And then he pushes it all away. 

It is a lie, and Virgil can't afford to fall into that trap. It has to be a lie. He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop and as much as he would like to believe them, he refuses to take the risk. He is a coward after all.

They still don't love him. But that's okay, because he knows they love Thomas and genuinely have his best interests at heart. They want Thomas to be better and happy and safe - they just have different ideas from him about how. Princey has frankly ridiculous ideas about how to make Thomas happy and safe, ideas that make Virgil want to either scream or cry depending on his mood.

Absently he notices that Logan has a headache, growing out of the video, stress over having something that was so utterly emotional related. You couldn't use logic on matters of the heart and his internal frustration seems to have manifested in a slowly blooming headache. Thomas’ issues, by and large are more emotional based than not, which means Logan can only contribute so much. Virgil knows what it feels like to want to help, to need to help, but to not have the correct tools to do so.

It stings that they don't love him, no matter how hard Virgil tries in his own way to show that he only wants the best for Thomas, that everything he has been done has been done for the purpose of keeping him happy and safe. They love each other partly because of how much they love Thomas and Virgil adores him. If only he could figure out the words to actually say it, not to mention the courage.

Virgil knows it would be easy enough - at first - to just take what they had said at face value. To let the words of love sink in and allow himself to feel them. It would be fine for awhile as well, he would feel better about himself, he might even smile more. But it wouldn’t last. One of them would say something or he would simply wake up one day in the wrong mood. And he would do something wrong, they would sigh and roll their eyes and remember that he is Anxiety, not something that should be loved.

They wouldn't be able to handle him on his bad days. Not if they saw him when he wasn't trying, he is just too much effort unless he is on his best behaviour and so he only shows himself on those days - or days when Thomas needs him. He can't believe the words because it would mean showing them his heart, would mean offering the tattered object up to them and hoping that nobody would damage it on those days. Offering it to one person was risky enough, offering it to all and knowing it would take just one person, just one wrong word to destroy it... no, he can’t risk that, and so he can’t be loved by them.

Still. It isn’t their role to love him and he is selfish to even hope otherwise.

They shouldn't be expected to love the outcast, the villain - redeemed or no, and he isn't some broken thing in that way, he's not some project for them to fix for the sake of it. Virgil doesn't want them to care for the sake of it, but to care because he is him and he knows how ridiculous that is, how slim a chance that actually is.

They shouldn't have to love the misfit with all the secrets buried inside of him, all the pain he steals away and hoards for his own. Living with them all the time has added a new secret to the ones already bubbling away in his mind.

It wasn’t just implying that he loved them. He truly does love them. Virgil loves them all, just as he loves Thomas. He loves them with a painful intensity that rivaled Patton’s passionate outburst, a love that burns like magma through him.

But that doesn’t mean he has to _tell_ any of them that.

Let them joke amongst themselves, let them think he blushed or whatever they want, so long as they don’t realise the truth. He can’t afford for them to realise he was serious because then the jokes would die away and one of them would have to explain to him that such feelings were impossible because he was Anxiety, he was wrong and _broken_ and disgusting and they were everything that was pure and good and right about Thomas. 

Worse, because he knows Patton and Logan - and yes, even Roman - are, at the core, kind, and so instead they would pity him. Perhaps they would start being more nice to him because of it, toss a few crumbs of affection in his direction just to be kind. 

Perhaps that is what they are already doing. Maybe he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he had thought, and they had worked out his silly little secret.

Perhaps the breakfast truce is nothing more than a pity play, something to sooth Roman’s ego and later he brags about it to all the inhabitants of the Imagination. About how kind, how merciful he is to poor little Anxiety. Why he didn't instantly toss him out on his ear, he allowed a few crumbs from his high table to be passed along to the lowly peasant Virgil. Such a great Prince.

Logan’s headache is getting worse. It pulsates along the bond between them, a living, breathing thing. 

Patton’s words bloom in his mind yet again. Bright, carefree, a hint of fizzed excitement. 

It makes him feel worse about his panic attack, as though he has betrayed the moral side by allowing his mind to get the better of him yet again, by letting it change Patton’s intent. As though he wanted to think these things, as though he enjoys seeing the bad side of everything, all the pitfalls and traps and never the beauty of the walk.

Carefully, he records those few moments of Patton, saving the clip to his phone - Virgil knows he is going to need it sooner or later, when his mind tries to twist things again. 

Probably sooner.

He doesn't even notice he has taken the growing headache from Logan until it is pressing in his skull instead, adding to the mix of pain already there, Virgil blinking a couple of times as it unfurls itself within his own brain. It sets up root there, and he can feel it steadily growing stronger. In the back of his mind, Virgil knows it is slightly scary, how easy it is now for him to do that, how he can take it without thinking about it, without even meaning to - then again, he would have taken it on purpose sooner or later. He hopes he was subtle about it at least. 

It is getting easier and easier to take the pain. It had taken dozens of visits to the real world before Virgil had felt confident enough to be able to remove the headache from Thomas without physically touching him. Sometimes, when the headache is bad enough, he will still show up in the real world, will sneak into his bedroom and try to offer what comfort he can, will keep guard over him as he sleep and push the bad dreams away.

It gets harder and harder to do that with every passing day. The other sides are more involved in Thomas’ life now, more prone to showing up at random times and they had nearly caught him a number of times without realising it. They - well, Patton at least - seem more interested in his life now he has started showing up in the videos. Virgil has to resort to increasingly sneaky ways in order to ensure he can carry on protecting Thomas while they remain oblivious. 

With Patton, he had managed to establish the connection around about the time the headaches had reached double figures and so if he wants, he doesn't need to touch. He still finds himself creeping along to Patton’s room on those nights when the headaches are at their worse, just so he can fall asleep pressed up against him. Virgil can't help but be selfish just in this one thing. He hates himself deeply for it of course. It feels as though he is using Patton somehow, as if he is taking the hugs and the sleepy moments under false pretense, as though he is taking advantage almost, of the moral side. He can remove the headaches so cleanly now - and he does - and yet still he craves those hugs, the comfort and safety that only a Dad can provide. As if he is the one who needs the comfort.

He'd only had to connect himself to Logan twice before he felt the thread that bound them together humming brightly, bright enough to drain away the pain almost as you would drain away excess fluids. So long as Logan isn’t actively sitting down and focusing on his headache, thinking of nothing but his headache then he shouldn’t notice the absence until it had been missing for a while. Hopefully he will just think it faded on its own but Virgil knows he needs to be more careful in the future. 

Virgil can handle this. He lifts a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the skin there, a frown creasing across there as he tries to push it down into a small corner of his mind, tries to ignore it as best he can. It’s a bad headache tonight. And another reason why the video hadn’t been a good one for him personally.

It’s not the only thing he has to deal with coming out of the video. Not the headache, and not the love. It’s possibly not even the biggest surprise to come out of it and that was saying something. It's certainly not the most confusing.

No that honour went to his interactions with Roman. 

Roman’s ‘I love you’ in fact and what had followed after. 

The easy teasing tone of Roman’s had seemed different when it was aimed at the other two. Virgil can't tell if that is his own mind turning against him once more or just the actual truth. The small voice that forever lurks in the back of his mind points out that it has to be the actual truth. Roman would never be mean to the other two, they are his friends and Virgil is not. It is at times like this that he wishes he was an optimist, that he could just believe his mind was playing tricks on him again.

No matter the truth of that however, it didn’t change the fact that Roman had called him ‘Hot topic’ and while Virgil knew it was - almost certainly - intended as an insult, he had still been floating along on the cloud that had been Thomas listening to him and so Virgil had responded without thinking, had joked back. He had all but flirted with Roman. With _Princey_. In all honesty, Virgil was a little afraid Roman was going to punch him next time he saw him. He was the Prince and Virgil was... well, Virgil was just him and he had no clue what he was doing even joining in, let alone teasing back. 

And then the final shock, just another thing to tip him over the edge and send him reeling. 

He had held Princey’s hand. Or Princey had held his hand, Virgil honestly can’t tell the difference. There had been a lot of screaming involved and maybe some part of him had been a little upset by that. Sure, he had screamed too, in horror of course, but that was because Princey already hates him and he doesn’t need to give the other side any more ammunition. Not that there is any ammunition to have. It’s not as though he had enjoyed the contact, not as though he craved any physical contact. Not as though he imagined a day when someone like Roman would hold his hand. 

It was just the stupid video topic and all the stupid touchy feeling rubbish that was getting to him, making him want pointless things that were not in his future. Nobody is going to want to hold hands with Anxiety, screaming is the most likely outcome if he was ever to even try it.

Virgil takes it all back. This video was a disaster. How can a single video be both the worst and the best, all at the same time?

\--

Virgil doesn’t come down for breakfast every morning. 

He and Patton have come to an understanding about it. 

Virgil does his best, he honestly tries to get up in the morning in time for whatever Patton has made for them all. He knows it makes the moral side happy to see him sat at the table and that it will be a good breakfast. A lot of the time, the thought of getting up in order to spend those twenty minutes, half an hour with the rest is the sole reason he manages to crawl out of the bundle of blankets he has constructed around himself. He has to get up, he can’t let them all down. Doing something for someone else is always easier than doing something for himself.

When he sits at the kitchen table he tries to eat. It’s rarely very much, his stomach still unsettled from the few hours he has managed to snatch of unbroken sleep. Patton is happy if he manages to swallow a single mouthful. He swaps to spearmint tea in the mornings on Logan’s recommendation, the slighter sweeter, gentler mint kinder to his empty stomach than the acidic splash of orange juice. It helps settle him faster and is a nicer flavour than the more bitter peppermint he had tried in the past.

Roman keeps his word, and breakfasts are by and large a calm time. Virgil is perfectly happy to simply sit there and let the others talk, to listen as they talk about the day before or any plans they might have for today. Patton always tries to draw Virgil into those conversations as if he might have something interesting to contribute and while he appreciates the effort, he is content enough to just be a part of it. He doesn’t want to risk anything more. It is just enough social contact that he can handle and almost enjoy, without becoming overwhelmed by it all. It's far more than he deserves.

But sometimes, he just can’t go out of his room, can’t bring himself to show his face to the world. On those days he can’t answer the knock, can't even tell the moral side that he won’t be coming down, that he can’t even leave his bed. Virgil simply lies there on those days, staring at the door with wide, tear stained eyes. Some part of him wants Patton to go away - and another part wants him to come in, to see all the broken edges of him and care anyway. He wants both and none, at the same time and he really hates his confusing brain so much. Virgil doesn’t understand himself, so how can he expect Patton to know what he wants? It’s a moot question anyway, because Patton never comes in, and he would never betray Virgil like that, would never intrude on his personal space. He would never take anything on false pretenses. He is so much better than Virgil. They all are. His thoughts inevitably spiral on bad days like that and the morning is lost. Sometimes the afternoon as well.

Patton always tells him the next time he comes down for breakfast that is okay. That he’s okay. That falling sometimes is okay. Because Patton is always going to be around to help him back up. That he is using all his energy to fight a battle and if that means he has nothing left over to get himself downstairs on that day... then it’s okay. Because he is still going, he is still there the next day and eventually he does come down for breakfast again and so it is okay.

Sometimes, Virgil even believes it. 

And gradually, the voice inside his head that used to sound like Deceit begins to take on Patton’s tone of voice instead.


	12. Superman never made any money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But to be summoned. To be called by one of the others on purpose, as if he might have something real and meaningful to offer to the conversation. He had hidden his excitement with an off putting comment, not wanting them to know how much it had meant to him that they had wanted his opinion, how inside he had been almost jumping for joy. "
> 
> a.k.a
> 
> The differences in summonings - and what a difference a summons makes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Videos covered in this chapter are _Losing my Motivation_ and _My Personality Q &A_. Chapter title is from _Superman’s Song_ by **Crash Test Dummies.**
> 
> Bad news, there will not be a chapter next Thursday. I have a couple of big projects coming up and I really need to spend a little time exclusively on them. But we will be back the week after! (It's entirely possible I will take another week off closer to the due date of these works but fingers crossed that won't happen.)
> 
> Good news is both projects are sanders sides related. So there is that?

****

### **Superman never made any money**

**  
**

There are days when even Virgil forgets that he is playing a role. That he isn’t actually the bad guy he makes himself out to be, that he just tries to be scary in order to get their attention and keep it. It is the only way to make them listen. A bit of blood pumping might be good for the system but it was more useful in making sure Thomas is aware of all dangers. If he has to be the bad guy to make that happen, then Virgil will play the bad guy.

He wants to keep Thomas safe and sure, sometimes that means taking the boring route. Staying at home instead of going to a party because there would be alcohol there and Thomas would be pressured into drinking too much. And then maybe there would be someone offering drugs because that was what happened at parties right? 

Virgil only really had television and movies to base that off, but someone offering drugs to drunk party goers who lacked the ability to say no certainly sounded like a reasonable thing to happen. If Thomas got drunk _and_ high then anything could happen. They could die! Thomas could... Virgil doesn’t want to even think it. At the very least, Logan would be paralyzed for a while because Logan is always the first one to go down in situations like that. So really, he was doing Logan a favour by keeping them from things like parties.

He has to hope that at least. Has to hold onto the idea that he isn’t always the bad guy, no matter how he might act - and Virgil knows he is an arsehole a lot of the time.

It seems as though Logan didn’t agree with him though when it came to thinking he wasn’t the worst. Logan probably thought he was just a waste of space, too emotional, too driven by feeling to be able to do anything. He didn’t see the calculations that went into every choice Virgil made, how he weighed up what he knew and didn’t, what could happen to them if they did anything. Could they afford to go to this event where there would be all these people? Where people would demand his attention, his time and no matter how he might be feeling, Thomas was going to have to be on his best behaviour. Which wasn’t normally a hardship, their manifester was a kind, friendly sort and easily made time for other people, no matter how draining. It was draining however and all it would take would be one mistake and everyone would turn on Thomas and start to hate him,

Then again, could they afford _not_ to go? What if people forgot about Thomas? What if they thought he was rude, stuck up or selfish for not wanting to go some event where he would met his fans, the people who made it all possible. There was rarely a victory in the situations in Virgil’s head, rarely a right way out of the problems he manages to conjure for himself. Perhaps Virgil puts a little too much premium on the negatives, on the countless possibilities no matter how slim but he was just being realistic. 

Happily ever after was only for fairy tales after all, and yet the others persisted in acting as though life was one grand adventure where nothing truly bad could happen and everyone as clearly defined as a hero, a villain or a helper. Even Virgil wasn’t completely immune to the idea, mentally casting himself in various roles. He had thought Logan would be above such things but it seemed not. 

Logan certainly thought Virgil was the villain of the piece and that had cut deeper than he could have imagined. To hear Logan puff up his chest, so sure in his reasoning. 

_“Thomas are you implying that Logic was not sound? Anxiety’s the antagonist.”_

Something has gone wrong with Thomas and so the obvious answer - the easy answer, the occam's razor answer - had just been to blame Anxiety. Nice little riddle, easy to solve and everyone can go to bed comforted and safe in the knowledge that evil had been defeated once more. Life isn’t that neat. He had thought Logan might have known him better than that. Virgil had even nurtured the vague secret hope that Logan out of all of them, might have been able to divine what Virgil was really after and why he did the things that he did. 

It had been strange to be summoned for once. Virgil had known he would be needed sooner or later, he could feel the anxiety start to build up in Thomas as Logan pushed at him, making him examine his thoughts more clearly than he would have liked. It is enough to push Virgil away from his music and make him start getting ready to face the world in preparation for when it would build up too much and he will have to show up to give Thomas the release valve he needs. 

There was always a low level of anxiety bubbling away in Thomas. Sort of like a stew in a slow cooker, left at the lowest setting. It was far too easy to turn the dial up to its maximum setting, something Virgil knows he has done plenty of times in the past, hindering instead of helping. It’s no wonder he is always kept at arm’s length until there is no other choice or until he pushes his way into the conversation despite them.

But to be summoned. To be called by one of the others on purpose, as if he might have something real and meaningful to offer to the conversation. He had hidden his excitement with an off putting comment, not wanting them to know how much it had meant to him that they had wanted his opinion, how inside he had been almost jumping for joy. His default was to be abrasive, to fire back a comment as if he thought it was a terrible thing Logan had done, to call him, instead of wonderful. Virgil had ideas, suggestions on what was going wrong and how to fix it. He couldn’t wait to offer his thoughts to the group and for once, help get Thomas back on track.

Then Logan had promptly pointed the finger at him and demanded that he take all the blame back on his shoulders. As if that was all he saw Virgil as. Something to be used. 

Roman instantly blames him of course and for all that Virgil is expecting the creative side to try and push it all on him, to see him always as the black villain it had stung to be right. He doesn’t want to be the one they all hate anymore. Too late it seems, to change it. Virgil still offers suggestions but he is more subdued than he had planned, some part of him brooding on the accusation.

He could lift Thomas’ mood and be optimist like the rest of them but really why bother? It isn’t going to change anything, isn’t going to make them think he was anything more than a baddie. It is easier to just drag Thomas back down, or try and least. Even that attempt is half hearted at best and Virgil doesn’t fight it when Thomas tells him to act like the others, simply grimaces and does just that.

Logan never apologises for his assumption. Why would he? As much as it pains Virgil to admit it, he knows his thought process was completely logical. Not to mention, these kind of things were normally his fault and why do anything today that you can put off for tomorrow? Plus, Logan was far more concerned with the fact that he was the reason Thomas had been struggling in that video. Logan was the unwitting antagonist. 

Thomas was suffering. It was Logan’s fault. And yet... and yet they didn’t hate him. They didn’t blame him for just being himself or expect him to somehow change. Virgil had always assumed that it was the price you pay - if you hurt Thomas then they hate you. They don’t just forgive you and move on and trust that you will try and do better. No, if you hurt Thomas, no matter your reason then you are cursed for all of time. 

It seems as though that rule only applies to Anxiety. 

On top of all that, Logan’s name had been revealed to Thomas. Virgil didn’t realise they were comfortable enough to start sharing names. If Thomas was going to start calling them by their real names then he knew he had no excuse not to do the same anymore. Saying Logan in his head and Logic to his face had let Virgil keep some thin measure of distance between them but even that was being taken away. He couldn’t be the odd one out yet again.

There had also been the niggling worry that he might actually have been the cause of course. Virgil hadn’t been trying to distract him from making a video - at least, not on purpose. But, he has to admit, it would be nice if they took a little break from the videos for a while. The pain of the last one is still fresh in his mind, and Virgil doesn’t want to go through another panic attack because of something someone had said. It had been a relief to know that he hadn’t been the cause of the issue this time at least.

It still hurts though.

How readily Logan had turned on him, as though he wasn’t trying to do better, wasn’t at least taking a moment to try and look at it from their point of view. Virgil still doesn’t get it a lot of the time but he at least makes the effort. He is amazed it didn’t trigger another wave of panic and pain in him, just thinking about it. Everything feels a little bit duller however, layers of scar tissue building up between him and the reality of Logan’s words. Perhaps he is finally developing that thick skin he has always wanted. It should be a good thing, but while Virgil doesn’t feel the hurt bad enough to wreck him mentally, he also doesn’t feel the relief as strongly as he had expected.

He doesn’t come down for breakfast for three days after that video. It’s stupid - Virgil knows that it's stupid. He doesn’t expect Logan to say sorry and he couldn’t accept the apology even if it happens. It would only be Logan saying it because Patton had pressured him into it and he still wouldn’t understand why he had to say it in the first place and that is even worse than not getting one. Virgil knows he won’t get an apology and yet he spends three days sulking in his room trying to work out what is the difference between him and Logan, why they can forgive one but not the other. He still doesn’t have an answer by the time he leaves his room once more.

\--

The headaches are getting worse.

Or maybe it is just because he is juggling three people and their pain now. Virgil can’t bring himself to stop though, can't even let himself slow down and it seems as though he is taking multiple headaches a week now. There is always a reason for him to grasp, as to why he should take this headache. It was hurting Logan too much or Patton needed a good night's sleep so he could make breakfast for them all in the morning, or Thomas just wants to go to the cinema and do something nice with his friends. Virgil refuses to be a secret villain, to allow them to keep suffering when he has the ability to change it. All it costs him is some pain so what is that really, in the grand scheme of things? It’s nothing, it isn’t important he isn’t important, not unless he is keeping them safe like he wants to, like he needs to.

They must never know he is doing it of course, they must never ever find out he is behind it. After Logan’s little outburst there is no telling how they might react to the knowledge that he was messed with their minds. They probably wouldn’t even believe he was doing it for the right reasons, would revert back to the thought that Virgil was the bad guy, that Anxiety was the antagonist and so had to be doing something bad to all of them. They might even try and stop him or force him back downstairs and Virgil is too afraid of the negatives to even risk them finding out. So he just quietly keeps on taking them.

There comes a time when both Thomas and Patton are both suffering from headaches and Virgil has to make the choice. Which one does he help? It is a cruel, terrible choice and while Virgil knows the answer is obvious - it's Thomas, it always has to be Thomas, they would all pick Thomas in a heartbeat, that is why they exist. He loves Thomas so deeply and he will do anything for him - does that include letting someone else suffer? How can he leave Patton suffering as a consequence though? He is the protective instinct and if he can’t do that, if he cannot protect then what good is he?

No good at all is the answer. 

His head is pounding from the near migraine he has taken from Thomas, the agony ripping through him and normally this is around about the time that Virgil would collapse in his bed and let the pain in his head run its course. Thomas is able to go and enjoy the rest of his day and that brings a small, tired smile to his face if nothing else. The expression wobbles a bit as he feels Patton’s pain, still fresh and vivid. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair that the moral side has to suffer just because Virgil doesn’t want to hurt more.

He’s already in pain, so what is a little more really? And surely it is better only one of them hurts rather than both? He needs to stop being such a coward. Virgil doesn't go and find Patton as he might normally. The thought of even moving is far too painful right now and he doesn’t think he would be able to offer any comfort to Patton. Plus, he doesn’t want Patton to feel as though he is coming to him because Virgil is the one in pain or that he is trying to manipulate him into giving him hugs. Virgil already takes so much from him.

Virgil grits his teeth, eyes closing. With a deep breath he curls up on the bed, fingers gripping the blankets tightly as he pulls. The new pain slams into the old pain, different types of headache mingling together to create something new and terrifying. Hurt, does not accurately describe how he is feeling right now. Even agony is too tame a word for the pain that is splitting his head apart. Hand lifts from the blanket, Virgil slamming it over his mouth to try and muffle the sounds of pain.

In the end, he cries himself to sleep.

\--

He doesn’t know why he says it.

No.

That’s a lie and he can’t afford to lie right now, a lie might summon Deceit and he is feeling far too fragile to handle anyone right now. Especially his former friend who is no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to knock him back down. He is bruised and battered enough, all thanks to his own stupid mouth and his own stupid bleeding heart. 

Virgil knows _exactly_ why he said what he had said. He knows the moment almost all self restraint had tumbled away and all the walls, the masks had all vanished. Anxiety had been completely defeated by a single sentence and only Virgil had been left in his place. 

He hadn’t even been planning to show up to the video. Thomas deserved a break from him and he couldn’t help but start to feel as though he is going about this all the wrong way. The thought is still in its infancy and Virgil isn’t completely sure if it is right or not, let alone how he can go about fixing it if it is, but he can’t shake the feeling that his current plan was not the right way to help. He was also maybe still a little sensitive from the accusation of being the antagonist of the piece 

Can’t be accused of being the bad guy if you never show up in the first place. 

His plan had been working perfectly, up to a point. The video was a calm one, no drama or existential angst that Virgil needed to get worked up about. It was just a bunch of questions and answers, all with the purpose of getting to know the Side’s better. There was nothing to save Thomas from and so he could stay in his room and just keep out of their way, as they no doubt all prefered. And then Thomas had decided to ask him a question. Out of all of the possible questions and all of the other sides, he had decided to ask his Anxiety a question - not to mention the fans had wanted to ask him things. 

It was the first time Thomas has _ever_ summoned him on purpose. Virgil had been so confused by the pull, a different sensation to when he had been called by accident, that he hadn’t any comment to make upon appearing beyond a pitiful ‘what’? The sensation of being summoned by Thomas of all people had been odd, a tugging similar to Logan’s call but without the sharp urgency. He hadn’t really known what to expect when he had appeared, the question in his mind without having to physically hear it.

It wasn’t like Logan’s summon, this wasn’t a call with the intent of bringing him to trial. Thomas had just wanted him to answer a question without any other motive in mind. Even then, he had figured that once he answered the question he would be chased off again. Allowed out just to play his role and that was it, back into your cage. His life - no, that wasn't right either, not live, not technically alive and even if he was, he wasn't exactly living. Existence. That was better. His existence felt more and more like one of extremes. In his cage most of the time, a wild and dangerous beast to be feared. And then the small times he came out to help Thomas or the breakfasts and he was able to see all the colours and smell, taste, touch, the world around him. All too soon however, it was always back to the cage.

Virgil wanted to leave on his own terms, to escape back to his room before he was rudely pushed away, to try and salvage some tiny scrap of dignity in all of this. He was being kind, considerate, and they would no doubt be glad when he was gone. He needed to leave before he thought too hard on why he was going, before the hurt managed to slip past the ice that was slowly forming around him, and Virgil didn’t want that hurt and panic to pass along to Thomas. He wasn’t going to ruin another video. 

Thomas had told him to stay despite Virgil making it clear he was totally fine with going and not causing any scene. Thomas had wanted him to stay. Thomas. His Thomas. 

He had been so excited, a warm, bubbling feeling in his chest that he masked as best he could but Virgil hadn’t been able to hide it completely. It showed in his more relaxed answers, in the way he had even gotten a little excited at the idea of his own channel and it had been a question which had basically boiled down to - what are you interested in? Someone had wanted to know what Anxiety was interested in and Thomas seemed to want to know as well, because he had asked the question and even reacted to his answer, proof that he had been listening. 

Virgil had lowered his guard because of it. He’d messed up.

He had answered the questions honestly, without any attempt to be edgy or dark. Sure, he had gone a little too far into his own head when describing how he would relax and had nearly dragged Thomas into a slightly darker mood but he had managed to retreat from it in time. Virgil had even done the right thing in refusing to betray Thomas’ trust by revealing his most embarrassing moment to the whole world. Nobody needed to know about that - so of course Patton had ended up spilling the beans. Again, beyond a few groans and looks, nobody had seemed mad at Patton for doing something Thomas had not wanted him to do. Which was good, Virgil would fight anyone who wished ill on Patton but it was still one rule for him and another for everyone else.

This was why he had spent so long with Deceit and the others. At least they were outcasts too and he didn't need to see what he was missing. No, he had left them for a reason, he had turned his back on them because it wasn't enough to be a misfit living with the misfits. He had needed to be in a place where he could protect Thomas properly, where he could make sure he was happy, where the sides didn't plot ways to ruin his life out of some misguided revenge plot because their host ignored them. Such thoughts were left to simmer in the back of his mind as the video went on, a strange bubbling mess of want and counter want.

And then had come **the** question. 

Virgil could have simply refused to answer it of course, and looking back he should have done just that. He could have made some joke, deflected the attention away from him, maybe turned it around so that Roman had to answer the question and Roman loved the limelight in a way Virgil just couldn’t understand. He could - should - have done all of that. But... Thomas had wanted him to stay. His host had actually wanted him. The least Virgil could do was put a little bit of effort back in and if that meant dropping his big bad and scary persona for just a minute in order to be honest with them all, then he was going to do just that.

There had to be something good he could say about all of them. The problem was, there was too much good he could say about all of them and it would completely ruin his tough guy exterior if he let it all out.

Thomas was just perfect in every way and he would need to tone it down a little, otherwise they might realise just how much he loved him. Maybe he could say Thomas was just perfect in most ways, and hope they wouldn’t question him too deeply, wouldn’t demand that he list anything he thought Thomas wasn't good at - Virgil is sure he could think of some things, like his inability to cook for example or how he constantly forgets to dry his clothes. But then again, Virgil can't help but worry those are things he is supposed to be in charge of, constantly pushing him to worry and remember things.

If he was being honest, Roman really impressed him. He was always on hand to offer an idea and constantly bouncing back time after time. He was a never ending river of creativity as his name suggested, and he was so strong. So brave, never letting anything get between him and his goals. So handsome as well, all the confidence of Thomas shining through in one princely packet.

Then he could turn to Logan, could explain how reassured Virgil always was by how the logical side could always ground them, how he understands reality in a way that always makes Virgil feel safe. He could chase away a lot of Virgil’s more illogical fears with clear reasoning. Not all of them of course, irrational fears burned bright no matter how much knowledge you possessed because that was the curse of irrational fears. But he still liked hearing Logan talk, liked listening to him explaining things and he could finally tell him that.

Patton’s cooking was amazing and this would be the perfect time to actually confess that to him, to thank him for the cake, for all the breakfasts. To admit how much all the little things meant to him, how it all builds up but in a good way. How Patton’s smile can banish all but the darkest moods. How he loves that Patton loves him and how he is slowly learning by example to be a better anxiety.

In short, it was the perfect opportunity to try and refute some of the thoughts they had about him. It was Virgil’s chance to show that he wasn't the bad guy, that he wasn't the Disney villain, the antagonist. That he might still be the tough guy you should be scared of, but only when the situation called for it.

Virgil opened his mouth, intending to say all of that, the thoughts all carefully measured out - only to ruin it on the first word.

He had called Patton ‘Dad’. 

He hadn't meant to do that.

The word had been in his mind for months now, begging to be said, pressing up against the back of his teeth and it had taken all of his effort, his energy to make sure it didn’t accidentally slip out, that he didn't embarrass himself. And then there had been a moment where Thomas had almost accepted him and it had all come tumbling out. Virgil was thrown into a blind panic, his plan shuddering to a messy halt in his head as his brain caught up with his mouth. Sure, he thinks of Patton as Dad and has for a while now but he needed to ease it into the conversation. Needed to offer up some positives so it wouldn't be so weird.

Time seemed to slow down as he uttered the word, Virgil aware before he had even finished saying the simple three letters that he had messed up. His brain instantly sprung into flight or fight response, thoughts spinning across him in the span of a tiniest pause, a breath between words. He couldn't say anything he had planned.

Everything comes out wrong, his compliments twisted into insults, genuine intent swallowed under a tide of rising panic that had only seemed to grow worse and worse with every word.

The rest of the video had been a little bit of a blur, Virgil acutely aware of Patton staring at him whenever the camera wasn't on the moral side. He could see him almost vibrating with excitement and he knows it's because he caved and called him dad. Any other time it might make Virgil smile, be honoured that his words have created such a reaction.

Guilt coils in his stomach, something hard and cold. Patton shouldn't be so happy because despite Virgil calling him Dad, he had insulted him. He had panicked and wimped out and Virgil shouldn't be rewarded for that.

There was a hug in his near future and the anticipation was making his shoulders hunch, an itch between his shoulder blades that he doesn't dare even touch. He wanted to sink out, to run but to his surprise, Roman had been the first to leave, followed swiftly by Logan, both driven away by frustration. Virgil is tempted to join them but that might reveal more about his mood than he is willing to share.

Virgil couldn't let them know how he was really feeling, he had to keep being aloof. They couldn't know he was hurting when before he had been more relaxed because Patton at least would ask why. Patton would try and fix it with baked goods or hugs and Virgil knows he didn't deserve that. He is the one who messed up, he is the one who hurt them all yet again with his insults - he hadn't even gotten the chance to compliment Thomas, his host cutting him off and while Virgil knows it is for the best he can’t help the pain. He wishes he could say even a third of the things in his head and have them come out right. Nobody seems to have realised he was acting off which is good, he just needs to play it cool a little longer. So he can't leave yet.

One more question couldn't hurt right? 

Wrong.

Why did the fans want to know which of the other sides he would kiss if he could? 

Why did they care?

More than that, why was he still thinking about the question even after he had slipped back into the mind and somehow avoided Patton for the moment. Virgil knows sooner or later he will get caught but that right now, is a problem for future Virgil because he has more important things to freak out about. Had it all been a trick on Thomas’ part? A way to get rid of his Anxiety without having to actually ask him to go?

If it was, then it has seriously rebounded on him because now Virgil can’t get the thought out of his head, can’t shift his attention to anything else. If Virgil gets obsessed about something then there is a good chance that Thomas is going to get obsessed about it. Really, he knows it's not a good thing to focus on and he doesn’t want Thomas to think about it in case the others notice but he just can’t help himself. Who would he kiss?

For a moment he allows images of all of them to flicker in his mind. Their forms shift and shimmer in front of him, the same face but each one subtly different, each one perfect in different ways. Patton, Logan, Roman. It had to be Patton right? If he had to kiss one of them, then a quick peck on the cheek as a son to a father was the only way to go, the only safe answer. 

Patton, Logan... Roman. No. No, it had to be Patton. 

Why did the fans even want to know in the first place? What was the point? Virgil grits his teeth together and forces himself to leave his room, Maybe he should just get the hug out of the way now. Maybe it would drive away the confusion that is settling in his mind like some heavy fog. 

Patton gives him his hug as predicted, blabbering something into his shoulder about ‘so happy’ and ‘kiddo’. Virgil tries not to cry during it, refuses to give in his baser emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. He shouldn’t have this, he is dirty and nasty and wrong, but he can’t bring himself to deny Patton anything. Even if Patton deserves a much better ‘Kiddo’ than him. At least Patton doesn’t press, doesn’t ask any more questions, doesn’t want to know anything else... yet. He probably will start asking questions sooner rather than later, questions that Virgil doesn’t have any sort of answer too but in this moment, there is only the heat and comfort of the hug.

It doesn’t chase away the question that is twisting and turning in his mind. It’s days before Virgil can think of anything else.

\--

Virgil falls into a routine easily enough. Patrol the mind, keep it safe. Keep himself alert for any headache, search for them. He can’t afford to slip up, as he had done in the past with Logan. He cannot let a headache get past his watch, no matter how subtle it might be. He has to check each and every one of them, because while they might slip by subtly and thus be undetected, it is far too easy for them to grow and grow into something far worse - just as they had done that first time he had taken one from Logan. What if that happened again? What if one started subtle and hurt those he cared about?

Then again, this newest one wasn't subtle. The migraine hits the mind with enough force to cause mental tremors, Virgil doesn't hesitate in tracking it to its source, knowing he needs to save whoever is suffering. It rages through like a wildfire, leaving mental devastation in its wake. This one is different to any other he has dealt with somehow. This one cackles and screams and he knows whoever is feeling it has to be nearly crippled already. It is a miracle they can't all hear someone crying from the pain, it feels that bad.

Patiently, he traces its course backwards, that glowing thread of pain he can see even with his eyes closed. He follows it across the common room, around the mind, dipping in and out of the real world as he traces the path the person took. Until he finds who is suffering. The trail doesn't lead where he expects.

Not to Thomas.

Not to Patton, or Logan.

To Roman.

Because of _course_ the creative side would suffer from migraines that dull the thinking and make it impossible to focus, a literal burn out almost. 

Of course they would be terrible at times, just as bad - if not worse - than the ones that Patton and Logan suffer from, different areas of Thomas’ brain reacting depending on different stimuli, different situations. Roman is no different to the others, it makes sense if one of them can get bad headaches then of course all of them can and Virgil doesn’t know why he never thought of it before.

Of course Virgil would feel it and want to help the one person he shouldn't, the one person that has constantly mocked and belittled him. The one person he knows without a shadow of a doubt would reject his help. The one person who isn't going to let him touch him. The one that hates him.

Of course it was one day going to be Roman in pain. Roman the brave, Roman the arrogant, Roman who had suggested their breakfast truce, who had kept his word what's more. Roman who he wished didn’t hate him, Roman who he wants to help, Roman who he needs to help. Somehow.

What is he going to do?


	13. Hard to alleviate the pressure to create

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not how Virgil imagined it would be. Foolishly perhaps, he had envisioned just more of the same. No matter how hard you pressed, he had thought he would only find more confidence, more charm, more annoying singing and even more annoying nicknames. Obnoxious all the way to his core and yet what he is looking at is something very different. Something that reminds him uncomfortably of looking in a mirror.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil’s journey into Roman’s room yields some surprising information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the immortal words of T’Challa “As you can see, I am not dead!” I am so sorry for leaving you guys for so long! My Big Bang ended up being a lot longer than I had originally planned and while it’s still not finished, I’m far enough through it to be able to turn my attention back to this story and let Virgil try and save Roman. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Hard to be the Bard_ from the amazing musical **Something Rotten**. 
> 
> On the plus side, look, we now have a complete chapter count. That is only a rough estimate and it's very possible that it will change so don’t read _too_ , too much into it. But it should give you some idea of what to expect. 
> 
> With that being said, who is ready for some Roman angst? I know I am! Enjoy!

****

### **Hard to alleviate the pressure to create**

**  
**

The mind is fairly quiet as he crept along the corridors. It was the middle of the night, late enough for everyone to be asleep, Thomas included. Or at least, for everyone to supposed to be asleep. There is no way Roman is asleep with the level of pain that is rushing through him, jabbing and responding to movements, light or sound. It is far too alive to be running simply through another's subconscious.

Plus, there is no way Virgil would be lucky enough to be able to just find Roman asleep and remove the headache without any added drama.

He stops in front of Roman’s door, staring at it. It has been a long time since he had last allowed himself to stop here, even longer since he had last let himself even think about knocking on it. Some part of Virgil.... missed Roman. It was ridiculous, _he_ was ridiculous. He saw the fanciful side almost every day and sometimes it felt like too much, too much socialising that bordered on fighting, too much everything. It wasn't like that they had ever been anything more either.

Roman had... tolerated him, at the best of times and he was just about tolerating him now. Just. Probably because for some insane reason Patton wanted him around. Patton seemed to almost like him. Patton had always been far too good for this world. Patton kept trying to drag him into more and more social situations, as if he wanted Anxiety around. Which was insane. Nobody _should_ want Anxiety around. He was grumpy, sarcastic, he always saw the worst in people and situations. He never wanted to have fun in the same way any of the others did. He couldn’t even trust them enough to tell them his actual name for crying out loud. 

Still, it felt... good. To be included. To know that even if it was just for breakfast in the morning, and even if it was just pretend, people seemed to want him around. Virgil knew he shouldn’t let himself think that, he shouldn’t let himself grow accustomed to this, shouldn’t let the warmth of Patton become something he craves more than he already does.

Sooner or later, they were going to grow tired with pretending they liked him or wanted to spend time with him, with... whatever this was. Sooner or later, he was going to get too much for them to deal with and then it was back to the cold, to being on the outside looking in for poor little Anxiety. He needed to keep one foot out of the door himself, ready to bolt instead of being pushed. 

Anyway, he is better off alone.

He always has managed well enough before. He had been happy. Well. Happy enough. He has survived and kept Thomas going and surely that was the most important than if he was alone or not. So what if he spends every birthday and holiday alone, able to hear the light sides celebrating. So what if the sounds of laughter and love makes a strange little muscle in his chest ache terribly and causes his pillow to become stained with black eyeshadow from where he has cried himself to sleep. They have every right to exclude him from their moments of happiness, moments that couldn’t be happy if a dark shadow was hovering over them all in the shape of Virgil.

This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking of his own pathetic flaws. Not when he has a mission. 

Stealthily, Virgil pushes Roman’s door open, the soft click barely audible even to his own, paranoid ears. Light streams out through the crack he has made, the brightness making him frown a little. The kind of harsh light is just going to make a headache even worse and he would have thought that surely even Roman would have had the sense to turn it down. Apparently not. 

The pain must be nearly unbearable from the light alone.

With another deep breath, he pushes it wide enough for him to just slip through, hopefully without alerting the other side within, cringing at every tiny sound he makes. He has never actually stepped foot in here before. Even when they had been... whatever they had been as children, not friends, never friends. Allies? There had been a peace, of a sort, between them, and they had come close to some kind of friendship, not like the friendship he had once had with Deceit and certainly not like the friendships Roman has with Logan or Patton. He was always the odd one out, even then. 

Even then, Roman - or Creativity as he was back then - had never let him into this room, had never wanted his things to be tarnished by the presence of Anxiety. Even then, he had never let him touch his things, not after the incident with Mrs Fluffybottom, when he had proved Roman had every reason to not trust him. 

Now he was going to ignore Roman’s deeply held views and sneak into his room, to further deny him what he wanted by touching and messing with his mind. His thinking is terribly flawed and he knows it, but Virgil cannot stop himself from going down such dark thoughts. To help Roman and the rest, he is going to make them hate him should they ever find out the truth. But... don’t they already hate him? Even if by some miracle, they don’t, then their hate is a small price to pay for keeping them healthy. Nothing matters more than making sure Thomas and the main sides are healthy and well. Thomas needs his creative side functioning at peak health.

He doesn’t need his Anxiety to be working perfectly.

Perhaps... he doesn’t need his Anxiety at all. 

Once again, Virgil pushes his intrusive thoughts away, knowing full well they will return at some point. That’s fine. So long as it isn’t now, so long as he can keep his mind clear enough to save Roman _now_. 

The first thing he notices is the light, more intense now he has stepped fully into it. It’s almost brighter than the middle of the day, as though he was standing in the middle of the sun itself. 

You would never guess it was nighttime and some part of him wonders if this means Roman is up most of the night too. Maybe he isn't the only one with a terrible sleeping pattern, which means _Thomas_ ’ sleeping pattern isn't solely his fault. Just mostly his fault. 

The bright white light is burning his eyes, Virgil snapping them shut and hunching even further into his black hoodie and trying to resist the urge to scream. Mere seconds in here and he can feel a headache brewing in his own mind, he still doesn't understand how Roman can stand it. Or why he wants it so bright in the first place. What is he so afraid of, that he will make sure there is no shadows anywhere? 

After a couple of deep breathes, Virgil risks cracking his eyelids open a little, trying to see past the glare to make out some of the shapes that line the walls of the room. The light really isn’t helping. It reflects off all the various trophies and mirrors arranged on shelves on the walls, as though Roman was not only the embodiment of mere creativity but was also part magpie into the mix as well. It is as obnoxious as he imagined, and so suits Roman perfectly. 

It’s also maybe a little endearing, especially when he sees the sheer number of disney posters that are mixed in with all the shining items. Virgil tries very hard not to look at all the different teddies piled high on the bed and the rabbit he knows will be among them. It hurts enough to think about her, he doesn’t know how he would react if he actually saw her amongst all the others, if he saw how loved and protected she was. How Roman is living up to his promise to protect her from all the ba- no! No. He isn't going down this road. Virgil swallows down the hiss of anger that wants to be spat out at the world, swallows down all his vicious thoughts and instead focuses on breathing and working out what he is seeing. No thoughts of how he is a terrible friend or how badly he had once longed to be accepted by Roman. No thoughts like that, for all that his mind is filled with exactly those.

His eyes gradually adjust to the overpowering glow that fills the room and all thoughts of light and dark, friendships and false relationships are driven from his mind at what he sees. He doesn't think at all. He can't. All Virgil can do is stare in growing horror at the sight before him. There is a bed of course, and a desk where Roman sits and between the door and the desk is... is... well, Virgil is struggling to understand what he is seeing. Everything is blinding white which isn’t helping. 

Mountains of crumpled balls of paper slope upwards into ever higher peaks, a whole mountain range stretching out behind the desk, filling the room as though Roman has been creating a whole new landscape here, a physical representation of all his thoughts. His failed thoughts by all accounts, Virgil winching a little as he looks at them. Does each ball represent a whole idea? There are enough potential ideas for videos here to keep Thomas going for years and while not everyone is going to be brilliant, even Virgil, for all his critical behaviour - or as he would put it, his desire for high standards - is sure that there would be more than one good idea among the rubbish. 

At this rate Thomas is not going to have any sort of idea he can use for his next project and he won’t even know why. This will be worse than the losing your motivation video because if Thomas decides to explore the reasons as to why he isn’t productive right now he will zero in on Roman and Virgil does not want to add yet more guilt to the creative side, doesn’t want him to worry and thus shift his headache into something even worse than it already is.

Although with what he is looking at, Virgil struggles a little to imagine how it can be worse. 

Roman sits with his back to the door, shoulders hunched high in a position that has to be hurting, head bowed as he leans over yet another sheet of paper, hand moving frantically as he scribbles across it. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Virgil yet, and somehow, despite the fact that he has crept in as quietly as he could, he was relying on the fact that Roman would have heard him anyway and then the conversation could have been started by Roman. Now, the pressure is on Virgil to say something first and no, too much pressure, he doesn’t handle pressure well. 

Virgil gives an awkward little figity motion, not sure how to break the silence, how to start a conversation in general, let alone the one he wants to have with Roman. It feels oppressive, weighing down on him like the air before a thunderstorm and some part of him - a large part in all honesty - would like to just back out of the room. He doesn’t know right now if talking is going to help or not, or if it would cause the storm to crack and break so heavily over his head.

The pen freezes mid stroke, Roman pausing to read back the words he has written. 

A low growl slips out from him as he scoops up the paper, roughly crafting it into yet another paper ball before tossing it over his shoulder. It bounces against one of the main piles already heaped up there, rolling down the side like a boulder before coming to a gentle stop near the bottom of the pile, Virgil’s eyes having followed its path. 

Another rejected idea it seems. 

Another piece of land in a world that is becoming nothing but mountains and desolate wilderness. 

Roman’s shoulders shake. No other sound comes from him as he sits there, his back still to Virgil, oblivious to the shadow that has crept into his bright world. He sits there and he shakes, he breaks apart at the seams, all without uttering a sound and oh, Virgil would have taken any amount of ugly sobbing, of dramatic howls, rain and a thousand invisible violins playing over this silent agony. This reality which sits so uncomfortably against the image that has always been in his mind of Roman. 

He was the Prince. He was brave and nobel and all those disgusting things in the light side of Disney. Sure, he had troubles, he has his struggles but not like this. Aching and shattered in the long dark night of the soul. 

This is bad. This... Virgil had known that it was going to be bad of course, he had known that the headache was terrible and that it would be causing more than simply pain to its host. But this. This is worse than even he could have imagined. This was probably worse than Roman could imagine. 

This is stripping Roman bare, ripping away his layers and leaving him broken and bleeding. 

It’s not how Virgil imagined it would be. Foolishly perhaps, he had envisioned just more of the same. No matter how hard you pressed, he had thought he would only find more confidence, more charm, more annoying singing and even more annoying nicknames. Obnoxious all the way to his core and yet what he is looking at is something very different. Something that reminds him uncomfortably of looking in a mirror. Looking at a far more handsome version of himself, but still, looking at a version of himself, complete with flaws and negative thinking. 

Virgil can’t help but wonder just how well he actually knows Roman. How well any of them know Roman and he would bet part of his music collection on the fact that neither Patton nor Logan have seen this either.

Maybe he isn’t the perfect, well put together Prince that Virgil has always thought he was. Maybe there is more to Roman than he had been willing to admit and if he could work up some courage, maybe they could actually take a step forward to repairing the mess that is their relationship. It’s never going to be as good as a friendship, but perhaps they can work out a way to coexist in a better way than they are currently managing. Maybe he is just being a little coward and trying to put off what needs to be done because he is afraid of talking and being reminded of just how much Roman hates him and how he is supposed to hate the fanciful side back in turn. 

Maybe he is hunching deeper into his hoodie and staring at the back of Roman’s still shaking shoulders because he is crap with confrontation or any type of social interaction and some part of him is still hoping that the situation will resolve itself without him having to do anything.

Virgil doesn’t know how to help Roman through this. He’s never been the sort of side anyone would want to come to for comfort, and all of his previous interactions with Roman have been more antagonistic than positive. He doesn’t know how to be more gentle with him and it surprises Virgil a little, that he wants to be. At the end of the day this is still Roman. Sure, he wants to save him, he will do almost anything to keep him safe, but that doesn’t mean he has to be soft with him. 

He could just be grumpy, off putting, could put on the show and keep a distance. Instead he is seriously tempted to be gentle about the whole thing, to try and show that he is open to understanding the pain. If there is one thing Virgil is confident about understanding, it is pain. The urge sits at an odd slanted angle to the rest of his personality, sits uncomfortably with his persona of always being the bad guy. Is Anxiety really going to try his hand at making him feel better? At being a good guy?

Apparently he is. 

Roman’s head drops lower, shoulders dipping and sagging. An utterly broken excuse of a man sits before him, Virgil staring wide eyed at his back as though it was the first time he has ever seen him. Perhaps it is the first time he has ever really seen Roman. Oh it hurts to see him like this and Virgil needs to make Roman better. He just needs to work out the right and good way to go about it. 

He doesn’t know how to be a good person full stop. Virgil wishes Patton was here. He wishes he had thought to wake the moral side up, he could have spun him some excuse about hearing noises and being worried and then Patton could have dealt with all the emotional comfort while he lurked on the sidelines. What was the saying again? If wishes were horses... well, if wishes actually meant anything then Virgil wouldn’t have spent his whole life alone, an alone that he was used to, that he managed with every day. Nobody else should have to deal with that sensation of being alone, as he knows Roman has to be feeling right now. 

He’s going to try anyway. He’s got to. Pressure or no pressure, Virgil biting down on his bottom lip for a moment, the sharp little sting grounding him firmly in the moment. It helps keep the worst of his intrusive thoughts at bay so that he can focus on the scene in front of him, the anxious side taking a slow step towards the royally garbed man. 

“Ro... Roman?” Voice comes out timid, softer than he would have liked, his mind still whirling with all the possibilities, all the pathetic little ideas he has on how to make this better. Maybe he can convince him to go to bed. Or at least to start to think about bed, maybe to lower the wattage on all the lights a couple of hundred notches. He just needs to somehow get close enough for skin against skin contact and then... well, and then Roman is probably going to figure out exactly what he is doing and be disgusted but it will be worth it to know the creative side is no longer in pain. 

Roman jumps, almost falling out of his chair, even as he twists in it to look at him. 

He looks... man, he looks like crap. His expression is pinched and drawn, eyebrows gathered together, a physical representation of his pain. Eyes are bright, too bright, red ringed and wild, making Virgil wonder how long it has been since he had slept for longer than an hour at a time. The bags under his eyes could rival Virgil’s. That isn’t the product of one single night of pain, no one night, no matter how bad, could make someone look that bad. This has been going on for longer than one night and instantly he feels the familiar wave of guilt crashing into him. He has failed Roman yet again. 

How long has he been fighting this headache, trying to keep it locked in his room? Or does he normally look like this, does he wear a mask just as much as Virgil does? 

Are they more alike than Virgil had ever thought? 

“Anxiety, what the hell are you doing in my room?” Roman snarls, shaking him roughly from his thoughts and slamming him right back into the moment, making him jump a little. He jams his hands deep into his pocket, feeling his shoulders hunch up defensively at the tone of voice Roman is using. It’s the pain talking, he has to keep reminding himself of that.

The pain and the fact he broke into this room when Virgil knows full well how Roman would feel about that, how he has always felt about letting Anxiety into the core of creativity. 

“I just... I...” Words fail him, as they always do in important situations, crowding up behind his teeth, a jumble just waiting to fall out and make a mess of everything. That was Anxiety in a nutshell. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, mentally counting for a few seconds. He can almost feel Princey’s glare boring into him, the anger making his skin heat up, and not for the first time he wishes he thought this through better, than he had brought Patton or even Logan with him. Or that he had actually thought out what he was going to say. He had been standing there staring at him like a loser for long enough. 

“I just thought you should rest Princey, you really need your beauty sleep.” Virgil cringed as he spoke, and no, even to his ears that sounded wrong. He meant he needed sleep, he so badly needed to sleep to let his body start to heal, to ease away some of the shadows under his eyes and take away the headache. Not imply he was ugly. 

Roman was handsome enough, he didn’t need to worry about things like that.

“I'll sleep when I'm done! Unlike you, I take my job seriously! I’m here to help Thomas. I won’t rest until I help him,” Roman snaps, his hand gripping his pen so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t break clean in two. Virgil can’t let himself rise to the bait and react to the words as much as he wants to. That is their relationship after all, they fight. His hands curl into tighter fists within his pockets as he bites down the abrasive comment and tries to apologise in his own limited way.

“That’s not what I meant! You’re causing him pain Roman, you need to rest.”

“How dare you!” Roman stands up so suddenly he sends the chair crashing to the ground. The sudden movement sends them both reeling, the headache screaming its way through Roman’s body. Virgil is only sensing a reflection of the pain, a glance on the mirror and it is so much to bare. He can’t understand how Roman can stand, can talk. It's the sort of headache that immobilizes its victims and yet here he is. 

Roman isn’t completely immune to its effect it seems and he flinches, hand jerking open, the pen falling free. It’s a fancy fountain pen, Virgil notes, watching in muted horror as it hits the table and bounces off, the nib sending thick black ink splattering everywhere. It stains Roman’s white tunic, a pattern of dark spots along the edge of his sleeve and near the bottom. The whole things only takes a matter of seconds and he watches as Roman’s face shifts into yet more pain, yet more fury. 

Roman is so strong to not be in pieces at the pain still throbbing in him. So very strong. And so very angry, physically trembling from his rage as he advances on Virgil, eyes narrowed into tiny little slits. 

“I am not the villain here Anxiety. That’s your role and don’t you dare forget it,” Roman hisses at him and that hurts, hurts more than he would have expected. Maybe it's because of the truce they have during breakfast, when Roman would treat him like a person instead of something. Maybe it's because he really doesn’t want to be the bad guy anymore despite knowing he has no choice. Thomas needs that push sometimes, needs to be afraid to keep himself safe and the only way Virgil knows how to do it is by being the bad guy. 

They never listen when he’s scared, only when he is scary and so he will be the biggest thing they fear to keep them safe from actual threats. It still hurts to have Roman throw his hate so blatantly in his face. It is just further proof that he needs to take a step back before they push him properly. He needs to try and harden his heart once more because this is just a taste of what is going to happen. 

Virgil winces, shrinking back from the now furious creative side, from the mess he has managed to make. He hadn’t meant to say that, he hadn't meant to imply that Roman was the villian. He doesn’t think any of them are villians, not really. Thomas is too good to have a truly evil side lurking within him surely and especially one as important as his creativity. That is him all over, he always breaks things, ruins things. 

This is why they don’t invite him for any of the parties or celebrations, why nobody mentions his birthday. This is why he hides in his room all the time and he is a fool to have forgotten it. 

“I am nothing like you!” Roman screeches, and that has hit a very tender nerve it seems, Virgil backing up as Roman continues to advance on him. He is almost grateful for the headache that is dulling Roman’s thoughts and creating writers block because otherwise he is fairly sure the creative side would have thought to conjure up his sword to make the point clear.

He really doesn’t want to know what it feels like to be stabbed. Virgil doesn’t know if Roman would ever actually try and hurt him physically, he’s too good a side for that. He ignores the whisper in the back of his mind, voice slipping between Deceit and Patton, that points out that he has managed to hurt him plenty mentally. Roman would never seek to actively harm him he hopes, but in the grip of such pain... well Virgil has done a lot of damage to things when lost in panic attacks, damage he has never meant to do to his treasured possessions. How much worse would it be for a Roman in pain, facing someone he doesn’t really like? 

Yeah. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have his sword. 

“Get out!” Roman screams, grabbing at some of the crumpled up balls and throwing them at him, the ideas bouncing harmlessly against the walls beside him but the intent is clear. He misses him completely but then that had never been a talent any of them possessed. Roman had meant to hit him and that is the only thing that really registers in his mind.

Virgil scrambles out, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away, Roman’s anger a heat that he can feel on his back as he staggers into the hallway, the door slamming harshly shut behind him. That isn’t going to do Roman’s headache any favours either, Virgil leaning against the wall directly opposite the door he has just exited out of, panting heavily. For a couple of moments he simply stands in the hallway, whole body trembling as he fights to get his breathing back under control. He wants to just break down and cry, to howl and kick and throw a tantrum of his own. He didn’t even get a chance to try and say why he was there. He didn’t even get that far, he didn’t get to try and help. 

He stumbled, right out of the gate.

It’s amazing nobody heard the commotion, but then again, apart from Virgil’s rather undignified exit, the whole thing had taken place within Roman’s room and it was clear the imaginative side had a soundproof realm there. Just as Virgil could turn his little corner mute, could scream away at the walls for hours if he wants without anyone else being any the wiser. Not that anyone would care if they heard noises coming from his room - Roman at least would no doubt expect screams and crying to come from his room, it's an evil place after all. It has to be, if its his.

Still, he doesn’t want to disturb them. And perhaps just as much, he doesn’t want the theory to become a reality. He doesn’t want them to hear him crying and just walk on as he knows they will. It’s easy to deal with it when it just an abstract near certainty instead of a cold reality. Easier to sell himself the lie of ‘maybe they will care’ over having to handle the knowledge that they don’t.

Patton and Logan’s doors remain closed, no light streaming out from under the cracks. Nobody else is awake, nobody else knows how badly Roman is hurting. He would be perfectly justified in going to bed. Roman has flat out refused to even give him the chance to offer to help, has screamed at him, has basically been the stupid, stubborn, annoying prince that Virgil had expected him to be. Just as he had thought, there is no way he is going to play the hero for Princey.

He could just ignore it now he has tried at least, could let Roman burn himself out further, fighting for an idea that is never going to come in this state. He could let Roman scream and burn himself into ashes like a Dark Side would. Deceit would be so proud of him, reducing one of the mains into such a state. It would be so easy for Anxiety to take over in this case - after all he is creative too, he has a part of the imagination too. It is full of all the dark, scary things that Thomas can dream up, the things that he doesn’t want to dream. He could force his influence on Roman while he was so weak and then they would never really fight again because he would have won. There wouldn’t really be a Roman anymore but at least Thomas would stop dreamed up such impossible dreams that give Virgil so much work. So many people looking at them. 

Virgil wouldn’t do that. 

Luckily, he already has a plan in mind, the idea striking him like lightning. It’s so simple and he can’t believe it didn’t occur to him earlier, can’t believe he actually went directly to Roman when the obvious right way is right there. The imagination was the key, the door to where he needs to go and Virgil doesn’t need to talk to Roman at all to help him. Best of all, by doing it this way, by embracing the more devious aspects of his personality he can keep his actions a secret. It just means getting... help. The word even feels wrong just thinking it, but for the sake of Roman he is prepared to swallow what little pride he has left, is willing to put aside his scruples and beg if he has to.

Fight or flight. He’s done the flight, now he is going to fight for the Creative side. Even if it means fighting him. 

There is one other part of Thomas’ personality here that he can turn to for help, one who has the skills and the knowledge to actually aid Roman instead of creating a giant mess such as the one Virgil has managed. 

One part that doesn’t exactly like Virgil - really, who in this mind does like Virgil? Not even Virgil likes Virgil. The last time they spoke, they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms but Virgil has to hope that he won’t hold a grudge. Who is he kidding? He will certainly hold a grudge and he isn’t going to be happy to see Anxiety again. 

But desperate times call for desperate measures.


	14. A thousand times I’ve seen this road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He is here to make a deal with a devil. Of sorts. Not the worst devil but still someone who makes his skin crawl because they simply do not get on. They are not supposed to get on, they do not mix. Then again, what really mixes with anxiety but the worst traits of Thomas?”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil meets up with an old ‘friend’ in a bid to help Roman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fricking love each and everyone of you, your comments and your kudos mean everything and keep me going. I feel like I don’t say it enough and it always stuns me whenever I get a nice comment that you guys like what I’m writing. I hope to keep making your days. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _No Roots_ by **Alice Merton** , thank you so much to my friend Flo for the suggestion. 
> 
> I realise I’ve never mentioned this before, but you guys can also find me on tumblr at ‘theeternalspace’. Come say hi. I get bored and reblog random stuff a lot.

****

### **A thousand times I’ve seen this road**

**  
**

No matter how many times he ventured into the subconscious, it never fails to set his teeth on edge. There is just something about the neverending kaleidoscope of colours and landscape, the way it refuses to conform to any sort of rules. He hates it. Anything and everything could happen here and then be destroyed again in an instant. Whole universes snuffed out in the blink of an eye while a new one forms based on a word or sight Thomas has seen but didn’t remember - at least not consciousnessly. Sometimes the worlds shift from here to the conscious areas. To the Imagination. The waves they form here are so great, so world changing that they are drawn up and Thomas becomes aware of them and so ideas are formed independently of any plan. He hates it when that happens too.

The Imagination is bad enough, but at least the Imagination can be controlled to an extent. At least it has rules, as strange and as bewildering as they are. At least Roman - when he is well - is capable of controlling the more unruly parts, the louder, annoying parts. He funnels all that energy, all his own creativity in taking the raw world building elements that have been churned up and making them into something that can be used and admired. He hasn’t been doing that thanks to this migraine, and who knows what effect that is actually happening on Thomas. 

As for the darker parts of the Imagination... well, those areas are Virgil’s to patrol and guard, to try and prevent them from gaining too much solid form. He won’t let those things become shapes that could haunt Thomas’ nightmares, tries to limit the power they have as best he can. He might believe that a shot of adrenaline was good sometimes to get the blood pumping and make sure his host was on the ball but he doesn’t want to torture him. 

He isn’t always very good at it, his own anxiety and worries often getting in the way of what needed to be done. And then he would often find himself worrying about that, obsessing about the idea that he is letting a truly negative terrible thought slip by that could form into a nightmare. He worries about how he is letting Thomas down, how he can’t even do the one thing he is supposed to do right - and by worrying about how he is failing Thomas he ends up failing him more, a vicious cycle made real. 

At least he doesn’t have to go to his own part of the Imagination today. No, instead all he has to do is go to magical trippy fairy land where nothing is the same between blinks and Virgil really, really hates it. 

The subconscious follows no rules but its own, just like those who live within it. It is always dangerous to talk to those who wander the labyrinth of every changing facets because they are as unpredictable and changing as the landscape, the basest and most simple of functions and desires. It was here that Thirst roamed, or Hunger, the pair often getting muddled with Boredom. 

Not that anyone here was simple. Far from it. Like he knows, Virgil isn’t that lucky. Someone simple would be... well, simple to deal with. 

No matter how many new worlds are formed and dissolved on the shores of the subconscious, Virgil is always reminded of that one time, of the world of near darkness and the spotlight that drew his eye to the unknown tragedy. Of finding Mrs Fluffybottom and a day that Virgil has never managed to get over, the wounds caused his the events still aching and open on his soul. 

He never did find out who had left her there.

It doesn’t matter. He’s not here for that. Virgil has replayed that terrible day more times than he can count, and he knows that he will replay it countless times more in the many years left of his existence. He can’t afford to think about how she had looked, dress slightly ripped, the horrors of the moment still to come. He can’t let himself picture how devastated Creativity had looked as he had found them, the pain and betrayal writ large across his face. The hate that had boiled the air between them with accusations flung one way and Virgil too slow witted to defend himself back. It’s his fault Creativity blames him, his fault he couldn’t find the right words to just explain that he had lost the rabbit but he hadn’t damaged her. It was still his fault that she had ended up there, but he wasn’t the only person they should be mad at. 

If he had been able to defend himself properly, then Logic at least would have listened. And if he could have found the words to just be honest and explain himself, then Logic would have helped him frame it so Morality and Creativity understood too. He could have grown up part of the group instead of always on the outside looking it. 

He can’t afford to think about any of that, of how much of his self hate is tied up to that one afternoon.

Fudge. 

He is thinking about it. 

Of course he is. And to make matters worse, he just thought fudge because his mind had been back in those years, when a far more innocent - and stupid - him had thought that was the bad word they had to stay away from. Great. Awesome. He’s reliving all his greatest childhood hits today it seems. Virgil groaned, lifting a hand to his face and palming it roughly down, trying to will away the thoughts as best he can. 

At least the subconscious doesn’t look like that day right now. He is walking along what seems to a dried up river bank, images of fishes phasing in and out of existence, the pathetic things flopping about helplessly on the dry dirt, trying to find water that just isn’t there. A number of plants lie shriveled up in the dirt as he follows the bank up river, evidence that a a might river had once roared its way through here and now there was nothing. 

Virgil really hopes this isn’t a metaphor for what is going on in Roman’s room. 

It is, of course. There is nothing else that it can be. He knows this, knows that the two parts of Thomas’ brain are constantly reflecting each other but it is spine chilling to see such a stark example of it here. It hurts to know that Roman’s pain is so clear for everyone to see. He knows enough about Roman to know the side will hate the fact that other aspects are aware of his weakness. 

Regardless, he has to focus on the task at hand, Virgil grunting a little as he climbed up out of the river bed and onto the ground around it. The landscape simply stretches on, as far as the eye goes, a barren wasteland of nothingness, of dull various shades of brown ranging from dark to frankly sickening colours. All dull and drab and it is so wrong, this whole world the subconscious has created is wrong. Thomas really isn’t thinking of anything. Even if Virgil hadn’t already been determined to help Roman for Roman’s sake alone, he would have felt compelled to do so for his host. He can’t let Thomas drift on like this. Which means he needs to carry on with his original plan.

He is here to make a deal with a devil. Of sorts. Not the worst devil but still someone who makes his skin crawl because they simply do not get on. They are not supposed to get on, they do not mix. Then again, what really mixes with anxiety but the worst traits of Thomas? 

He should try to be more than he is, for his hosts sake. Or at the very least, less. Less of the bad so that the darker elements cannot use him to cause harm. 

Virgil sighs, his thoughts getting him nowhere as he lifts his hand to bite nervously at his thumbnail, doubting his choices suddenly, every thought and word that has led him to this moment. It’s too late to turn back now, there is no doubt in his mind that everyone in the subconscious is aware of his presence already. 

“Sleep!” he calls out, the word echoing through the empty land, Virgil cringing a little at how rough his own voice sounds, his disgusting and wrong. It keeps bouncing back to him, his voice mocking him with every passing second that he stands alone.

“You called?” 

A blink and suddenly the function stands in front of him, a nearly empty take out cup of something from Starbucks held loosely in one hand. As always, his eyes are masked by a pair of large sunglasses and they make him look strangely alien in an already out of this world landscape. There is a cocky air about him, a confidence that Virgil has never been able to possess. He wonders what that says about Thomas, that his anxiety is such a large part of him and yet beset with constant doubts and fears. Then you have his sleep, a far more confident and outgoing aspect of his mind, a function that is easily able to persuade Thomas to take a nap even in the middle of the day - Virgil likes it when Sleep convinces Thomas of the merits of an unscheduled nap, no matter how much Logan wails about regular sleeping patterns or how it means he won't be able to be able to sleep at night. 

Sleeping the day away and thus avoiding choices that could hurt you sounds like the best possible use of time that Virgil can think of. It’s hiding of course, but he accepts that too. 

Sleep is more powerful than the other sides realise, possibly more powerful that even Virgil knows, and they have coexisted fairly uncomfortably together up until this point, occasionally scrapping, mostly when Virgil comes to chat with Thomas about the futility of life and the certainty of death at three in the morning and Sleep is already there ready to work his magic. Sleep normally flounces out of the room in an overly exaggerated huff before any actual fight between the pair of them flares up, giving up instead of losing. Or winning. 

The function develops his incessant love for Starbucks, for not doing his job after one of those not quite fights. He knows Sleep blames him for it, knows he points to Anxiety as the reason he is the way he is. Virgil had never thought that particularly fair, that he is blamed for even the changing attitudes of the various sides and functions that exist within Thomas. Then again, what is his life, if not the big bad wolf howling menacingly from the sidelines? He’s not supposed to care about fair, or that he is thought of as a villain. He’s just supposed to be one.

In an actual, straight out fight, Virgil still thinks he would win. But he doesn’t want to fight. Not right now at least. 

“Hello, earth to Anxiety,” Sleep calls out, snapping his fingers in front of Virgil’s face and forcing his attention back on the moment at hand. “You even in there?”

Virgil swallows down the instinctive dislike at what he has to say and pushes on. It is hard to admit what he needs, but it isn't for him. Doing hard things are always easier when he is doing them for other people and not for himself. He could - and would - crawl across broken glass if it was for one of the other main sides. This will be easy in comparison. 

“Sleep I... I need your help.” 

“Uh... no. Uh uh. No way,” Sleep complained, wagging a finger in his direction, an outraged look on his face. “You and I do not work together for a very good reason! I don’t owe you anything and I’m certainly not gonna just help you out Anxiety, like as if.” 

Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes or bang his head against some summoned hard surface somewhere. He had somehow managed to forget how very dramatic Sleep was, how he could put even Roman to shame when it came to over the top dramatics. 

Roman.

Right. He was doing this for Roman. His ridiculous, energic Roman who was in pain, who was probably writing out another idea right now in that burning white room, who was metaphorically tying himself to the stake and setting himself alight just to try and give Thomas one more good idea. His Roman who just needed some sleep, needed the pain to go away and then he could wake up refreshed and come up with some of those brilliant ideas he was so good at. 

Roman who was certainly not ‘his’ anything. 

Which means he has to deal with Sleep because sleep right now is the only idea Virgil can come up with as to how he can help Roman. 

“I didn’t call you to help me,” Virgil replied, making sure to keep just enough disdain in his voice so that Sleep wouldn't think he was going soft. He needs to retain some of his image after all. Can’t have any of the neutral aspects of the mind think he was going soft, or worse, hand the Dark Sides any more ammunition than they already have to use against him.

None of them have confronted him since he moved upstairs so to speak, but Virgil knows it is only a matter of time before one or another of them shows up. Before one of them tries to force him back into that role he has played for so long now, the shadow play that he still dances with just to try and keep them away from Thomas and of course himself. 

Virgil doesn’t know how he would react if one of them shows up to talk to him, to try and convince him either to come back to their side or just to try and do some harm to Thomas in his new, larger, role. He’d like to think he would be brave about the whole thing and send them packing but that is probably fantasy. It’s far more likely he would accept their too rough hugs and hair tussles if offered because he is a pathetic excuse of a figment and craves affection. Patton gives it too though. Patton is never too rough or too loud with him. Which makes the inevitable betrayal when Virgil eventually disappoints him even worse to imagine. At least with the Dark Sides he already knew he didn’t like them. Just like he knows Roman doesn’t like him.

“I need you to go deal with Sir Sing a Lot. Make him sleep, he needs a visit from you.”

“Excuse me?” Sleep replied, voice somehow managing to go up yet another octave and Virgil hadn’t realised they could make their voice go that high. It sounded strange coming out of Thomas’ mouth and he hopes never to hear it again.

“You.... want me... to help Creativity. Why do _you_ want anyone to help him? Word on the street is you two hardly get along at the best of times and now you want him to go to sleep?” Sleep peers over his sunglasses to frown at Virgil, clearly not buying anything he was trying to sell.

“What... what street?” Virgil asked, letting himself get distracted by the absurd comment and he doesn’t know which part of the sentence most unsettles him - the idea that they might conjure up a street in which to gossip in, and all the absurd imagery that provides or the more basic fact that they spend their time talking about him and his relationship with the other sides. They are depressingly accurate about his relationship with Roman and he doesn’t want to know what they say about how he gets on with the other two.

“I’m not getting involved in a war between the pair of you,” Sleep proclaims, one hand resting on his hips, body swaying ever so slightly. He looks about two seconds away from just leaving and Virgil is going to have to give him something.

“No! No, it's nothing like that...” Virgil sighs, pinching his eyes together and at this rate he was going to have a headache long before he actually managed to take it from Roman. “Look he's loud and he's in pain, and don't for one second think I care or anything, but I want to rest too and I can hardly do that when I’ve got high and mighty down the corridor being all dramatic and woe is me.” 

All these lies, he’s amazed Deceit hasn’t popped up to gloat about them before now. Sleep continues to peer at him over the top of his glasses, a thoughtful hum slipping out between his teeth.

Sleep doesn't believe him. He knows it and what is more, he knows that Sleep knows, that he knows. Just like Sleep knows that he knows, that Sleep knows. And now he really has a headache from all the double thinking going on in his head.

“Ugh, fine,” Sleep suddenly announces, Virgil surprised at how readily he has agreed.“But you owe me for this Anxiety. I expect, at the very least, a new drink. And don’t think that will even the scales.” 

Now all Virgil can do is wait. In the subconscious. Lovely.

\---

It’s impossible to gauge how long he is waiting. Time is a construct after all, and reality is an illusion. 

All he knows is he has been sitting beside this dried up river bed waiting for Sleep to return for what feels like forever. Above him he can see what look like stars burst into life, form constellations, whole galaxies sometimes and then fade back into the inky night sky. Stray thoughts of Thomas’ reflected inward. Sometimes, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like for his host if he stayed here, in the subconscious, where he couldn’t do any harm.

Sometimes he wants to be nothing more than one of those stars flashing across Thomas’ mind, a brilliant burst of light and thought - and then gone just as quickly. 

“I’m back girlfriend, did you miss me?” The words make Virgil flinch, startled by the sudden noise as he twists to look behind him. Sleep flings up his arms as he speaks, waving his hands in what Virgil can only describe as ‘jazzy’. It makes his head hurt worse and he had forgotten just how much effort Sleep can be when he decides to be over the top Extra. Sleep does it on purpose too, just to annoy him. It’s almost like he resents Virgil for all the times he had been prepared to help Thomas, only to find Anxiety already there with his notebook of ‘Ways in which Thomas has screwed up his life forever and ever’. 

“You did it?” Virgil asks, pushing that annoyance away and he needed Sleep, needed him a lot more than Sleep needed him right now. He had to just keep playing nice for a little longer. The function gives a nod, a smug grin on his face.

“Roman is sleeping like a little baby, thanks to me, he is not waking up any time soon, so you can go ahead and do your little magic trick to deal with his problem and yikes what a problem he has tonight, am I right or am I right.”

Virgil freezes, every inch of him tense and wary. Sleep couldn’t possibly have meant what he thought he meant surely?

“What... what do you mean?” Even though Virgil didn’t want to know, he knew he had to. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Sleep was thinking about some other terrible problem that was affecting Roman tonight and maybe Patton was going to give up dad jokes - both sounded about as likely as each other.

Sleep huffed, waving his now empty cup in Virgil’s face as though it had personally offended him. Considering it was empty, the thing probably had. 

“Please, you think I don’t know? I’m Sleep sugar cake,” he drawled, dragging out his name - title, and did Sleep have a name? Virgil had never felt comfortable asking since he had no intention of sharing his own name to anyone, let alone a function. 

Plus, he didn't really care that much.

Sleep pauses, as though to take a noisy slurp of his drink before realising it was still empty, a horrified huff escaping his lips. Sunglasses slide down his nose, the function glancing over the top of them once more, his eyes wide and over the top shocked as he gives Virgil what the anxious side has to admit is a fairly good scandalised expression - not that he would ever admit it was a good one. Wouldn't do for Sleep to get too egotastic. 

“Wait, you think I really don’t know. You think you’re subtle...” Sleep trails off, a sharp little giggle slipping out, face cracking into a bright grin. It doesn’t take much to know that he is laughing at him, Virgil gritting his teeth and letting Sleep have his fun. Now more than ever, he needs to keep Sleep on his good side, because if he really does know, then he has so much power over him. Sleep lifts a finger to push his glasses back up, completely covering his brown eyes so once again, Virgil is left uncertain of what Sleep is really thinking. It’s a lot harder to work out emotions when he can’t see their eyes and all his brain can suggest is more negative, more bad. Sleep knows, he knows his dirty little secret, he knows how much of a freak Virgil really is and who knows what he could demand for his silence.

“You think you can go creeping around Thomas and all sides as they sleep and do your headache magic and I _wouldn't_ notice? Please, as if.”

Virgil clicked his fingers, a brand new takeaway drink appearing in Sleep’s hand, the complicated order springing to mind with ease and for a moment it's just like they are teenagers again, alternating between fighting and hanging out. Sleep and Anxiety do not mix - except when they do because for all that he gets blamed for Sleep for how he has turned out and for all the not really there fights they have both indulged in, the pair still spent a lot of time together as teenagers. 

It's strange how he can still remember it, even though it has been years since he has made it. Virgil used to make this drink so many times a week, summoning it with a dramatic snap of his fingers and the pair sporting grins, aware that they were breaking the rules. They weren’t supposed to hang out together and Deceit would have hated it, would have accused Virgil of trying to replace him or some other hurtful lie. 

It had been a little bit of danger when he was too cowardly to find the Light Sides. Virgil had never known why Sleep had wanted to spend time with him, what he was getting out of it - maybe just a coffee he always claimed nobody could make quite as well as Anxiety. He had liked making it for Sleep back then. 

Right up until Virgil managed to burn that friendship to the ground too. 

“And you're not going to say a word about it, am I right?” It is half a question, half a statement wrapped up in a threat, not that Virgil can do anything to stop him. Terror is grabbing at his throat, throttling him and he is amazed that he was able to force any words out at all. How long has Sleep known? He had never said anything during their teenage years, even though, looking back, there had plenty of times Thomas had been in pain and Anxiety just so happened to vanish for wholly unrelated issues. 

Sleep must have been laughing at stupid little Anxiety for _years_.

“Your secret is safe with me Anxiety, don't you sweat it,” Sleep said with another pleased giggle, gleefully gulping down a large mouthful of the drink and giving a satisfied sigh at the taste. “In another life you would have made a solid Starbucks Barista.”

Coming from Sleep, that is practically a proposal of marriage or declaration of undying love.

He eyes Virgil over the top of his glasses, giving a thoughtful humming sound. The function suddenly looks surprisingly serious and Virgil doesn't know what to do with that. Is Sleep about to change his mind and demand something else, is he going to realise he gave up the knowledge far too easily without demanding anything useful in return. Nervously, Virgil shifts from foot to foot, torn between just running away now that he has what he needs from him and waiting to see where the hammer blow will land. Running away just means it will hit him where he can’t see it and he needs to know so he can defend himself. 

“You might wanna consider... easing up?” Sleep suggests after a few moments of awkward staring, one shoulder lifting up in a very ungainly shrug, betraying just how ill at ease he was about this conversation. Virgil didn't feel much more comfortable about it himself. 

“Easing up?” Virgil wasn't really sure what Sleep meant by that, a faint frown on his features. If he didn't take the headaches then the others would be in pain. If he takes them, then he will be in pain but they will be fine. It sounds like a perfectly fair trade to him and one he will keep making. 

“I’m just sayin’. Thomas and the rest are big boys Anxiety, maybe they don’t need you swooping in and saving them from every little headache they have? It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you just let one of them have a migraine once in a while.” 

“I would have thought you would have approved Sleep, Thomas gets more rest after I take his pain away.”

“Hey, I’m not knocking the end results, you do wonders for them, but I’m less keen on the effect it has on you.” Sleep lifts his hands in a defensive gesture as he talks, as though he could ward off any negative energy his words may have caused. As if Anxiety is anything but negativity. Virgil eyes him bitterly and he knows that they aren’t exactly friends anymore but it is still cruel of Sleep to remind him so sharply of that fact by sarcastically pretending to be concerned. 

“Why do you even care?” Virgil crosses his arms over his chest and this whole conversation is making his stomach hurt, acid churning unpleasantly. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to have to face the mistakes of his past and how he is about to make another one. Sleep gives a snort, blowing down into the straw and creating bubbles within.

“Who says I do? Just don’t like the idea of part of Thomas’ mind going up in flames.”

“Better me than them,” Virgil muttered, tilting his head to stare down at the ground, examining the dried up river as though it has suddenly become the most fascinating thing here. It is strange, that the river is still there in all honesty, object permanence is not normally a concept that applies within this area of Thomas’ mind. Whatever it represents, it has to be more than Roman’s struggles and not even he could hold something in place here for that long.

“Pardon?” Sleep’s voice dropped down a few octaves, the happy go lucky, dramatic boy of mere moments ago replaced by a far more serious version. As serious as anyone can look when half their face was obscured by large sunglasses anyway, but Virgil can see his eyebrows have practically climbed up into his hairline, he’s lifted them so high. The sudden chill in the air is noticeable, Virgil giving a little shiver despite himself. He shouldn’t have said anything but how was he to know that Sleep was going to pick this moment to suddenly give a damn about Virgil? 

“Look just... just forget it alright? I gotta go, like you said, Roman is sleeping.” Virgil hooks a thumb behind him as he spoke, gesturing vaguely in a direction away from them and thus back to the upper areas of the mind. Conflict is not what he is looking for here and he really doesn’t like the way Sleep is - presumably - staring at him. 

The function presses his lips together in a thin, unhappy line and Virgil finds himself really wishing he hadn’t decided to come here. He wished that Roman hadn’t had a headache or rather that he hadn’t been such a big fool and just let Virgil help. He wishes Sleep didn’t care again, or maybe he wishes that Sleep had never stopped caring because things might have been very different if they were still close enough to talk.

“Fine,” Sleep huffs suddenly, turning his head away to stare across the landscape. “For now. But I’m watching girl. You be careful.”

Virgil isn’t stupid enough to ask for clarification this time, that is a rabbit hole he doesn’t want to go any deeper down. In this case, it is probably better to leave some ambiguity surrounding the conversation before either of them say something they regret. He lifts his hands in his two fingered salute before vanishing back to the more inhabited parts of Thomas’ mind, thoughts turned firmly in the direction of Roman.


	15. Swore I’d never fall again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thankfully, Roman doesn't do much more than shift ever so slightly in his bed before sinking deeper. Virgil makes a note to send Sleep another drink as a thank you for at least having the sense to make sure Roman was in a very deep sleep. He isn't really sure what he is doing, working off Thomas’ memories of when his mother put him to bed and trying to recreate that care as he awkwardly pulls the covers up to the other sides neck.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Things finally go right... and oh, so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wasn’t planning to post on this story this week because of deadlines, but the inspiration struck and here you go, surprise chapter!
> 
> I’m so happy you guys all enjoyed last chapter and don’t worry, we’ve not seen the last of everyone’s favorite Sleep. 
> 
> If you like my writing, feel free to check out my other works, I’m in the middle of uploading one of the Sanders Sides projects I’ve been working on and I am always hungry for more views. It’s got soul mates and angst and all the good stuff. In the meantime, enjoy the latest chapter of this.
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Halo_ by **Beyoncé**. Video covered in this chapter is _Am I Original_ , any lines taken from it obviously belong to Thomas.

****

### **Swore I'd never fall again**

**  
**

Nervously, Virgil creeps back along the hallway, half expecting one of the sides to leap out and ambush him. Maybe Logan demanding to know with his unfaltering logic, what exactly Anxiety thinks he is up to sneaking about like a thief in the dark. Or Patton, with his disappointed dad look, the thought making his heart squeeze in almost physical pain. He keeps moving despite these worries, heading towards his eventual goal.

Light is still streaming out from under the crack of the door and it shouldn’t surprise him that Sleep didn’t think to turn that down after he has managed to get Roman into bed. It does annoy him a little though, that such a basic thing wouldn’t occur to him. At least it means he will be able to see what he is doing but it still means its an extra job he has to do when he leaves and that is just added work that Virgil doesn’t really want. At least he has reached Roman’s room safely. All he has to do is work up the courage to enter it once again, and interact with the creative side once again, who should be asleep but what... what if he wasn’t? 

Virgil froze, one hand on the door handle to the room as the new worry crowded his thoughts. What if Sleep hadn’t done his job properly? What if Roman was still awake or worse, what if Virgil accidently woke him back up and he got justifiably furious at the fact that Anxiety had crept back into his room yet again? 

He can feel his breath quicken in his chest, a rapid flutter of his heartbeat as he warred with all the voices in his mind, the ones that wanted him to turn around and run away verses the ones that insisted he had to stick this out. The headache would mostly likely fade by morning and it was like Sleep said - Roman was a big boy, a hero in his own right and would it be so terrible if he just let the guy suffer for once?

Yes.

Yes, it would be terrible. He would be terrible if he knowingly left Roman in agony when he had the potential to make it all go away. It was _Roman_. For all of Princey’s obnoxious behaviour, for all the hurtful nicknames that he had a seemingly endless supply of, Virgil would still rather swallow hot coals than let anything bad happen to him. He was Creativity, he was a wonderful aspect of Thomas, and him hurting was going to hurt his host. Virgil wasn’t going to let that happen.

He was a wonderful side to the other mains. He was their protector, their knight and they needed him at his best. How he treated Anxiety was just... well, it was the way things were supposed to be. Virgil might not like it, but he knows in his heart that it is just the way things are. Their roles were set long ago and no amount of sneaking about in the dark trying to do the right thing now could change that. The things he had done as a villain were unforgivable, no matter how good his intentions might be.

Sleep’s words still niggled at the back of his mind, an itch he couldn’t escape from no matter how hard he tried to shove them to one side where they couldn’t annoy him. How dare he act as though he cares now, or make him think that he wasn’t doing the right thing. And then that final word, as though they weren’t finished. As if Sleep really was going to be keeping an eye on him. The function is probably already deep in his fourth new coffee and oblivious to anything else going on around him. He will forget his conversation with Anxiety soon enough, just like they all do. 

And he can keep on doing what he needs to. Just like he needs to start building up the connection between himself and Roman for when it happened again. 

Virgil knows himself better than the others might think. He is well aware of his fails and his strengths - as few as they are, as tiny as they are, he still knows he is good at... some things. He knows that the moment he realises Roman is suffering again, he will want to take that pain away, no matter how fraught their relationship gets at times. The second there is a headache, he will take it and that includes Roman. Of course it does. He’s gone to all this trouble, he can’t back out at the last second now.

Hissing softly, Virgil forces himself to finally move, pressing down on the handle and stepping inside before he can talk himself out of it any further and into the lion's den in one stride that looks far more confident than he actually felt. 

The room inside is as bright and as terrible as before, Virgil feeling what he hopes is water and not blood well up in his eyes, stinging in the burning light. He waits it out, knowing he just has to let his sensitive eyes grow used to the ridiculous levels in this room. Grumbling under his breath helped to settle his nerves a little while he waits, a soft and steady stream about how ridiculous this whole thing is, how ridiculous Roman is and how Virgil just wants to curl up under his Nightmare Before Christmas blanket and hide until the sun goes away. That’s a good line. He might have to use that.

Why is he even waiting at all? Roman is clearly asleep since he hasn’t screamed at Virgil and that means there is nobody in here to see him. He can use his own imagination to turn the lights down before he takes the headache and then off completely afterwards.

Which means he’s been standing in what feels like the center of the sun for absolutely no reason. He can be an idiot sometimes. He’s going to blame Roman for this, he is sure that somehow, it all boils down to being the creative sides fault. Virgil mentally lowers the lights to half their strength - even that feels far too bright against his closed eyelids but he needs to be able to see clearly if he has any chance of helping.

The sight in front of him when he slowly opens his eyes makes a fond smile curl onto his lips despite himself. 

Roman is flopped on his bed, half under the covers, one richly garbed arm sticking out. It looks as though Sleep didn’t even give him the chance to get ready for bed before insisting he took the nap. Virgil can’t say he blames him though - Roman would have just argued that he didn’t need to sleep or that he was far too busy to rest no matter any evidence to the contrary. 

His hair is sticking up all over the place in a most un princelike manner, and if he had been awake he would have probably turned a shade of royal red at anyone seeing him like this. It... settles Virgil’s nerves further somehow, to look down at a sleeping, peaceful Roman and realise that for all his bravado, he is still a normal person under it all. Roman mumbles a little and shifts in his sleep, knocking about a hundred sheets of loose paper off his bed and onto the floor, all the ideas he hadn’t outright crumple and of course Sleep wouldn’t think to even clear the bed before tipping Roman onto it.

Well. At least this is as normal as Roman can get. He probably sleeps in a pile of his own ideas normally, a creative version of Scrooge McDuck’s idea of swimming in his gold. 

Sighing, Virgil starts to ease the sleeping side further onto his bed, rolling him further from the edge. The movement makes him rest on yet more paper, the sheets rustling loudly in the otherwise quiet of the room. Thankfully, Roman doesn't do much more than shift ever so slightly in his bed before sinking deeper. Virgil makes a note to send Sleep another drink as a thank you for at least having the sense to make sure Roman was in a very deep sleep. He isn't really sure what he is doing, working off Thomas’ memories of when his mother put him to bed and trying to recreate that care as he awkwardly pulls the covers up to the other sides neck.

Roman gave a soft grunt like snore, mouth half open and if he didn’t know better he could have sworn a small trail of drool trickled out of his mouth as he shifted a little, snuggling deeper down into the pillow and bed.

Clearly, the prince of everyones dreams.

A nervous giggle slips from Virgil as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. Roman is now tucked in, and Virgil hopes he is comfortable. He has never had anyone tuck him into bed, never experienced it and certainly never shown that level of care for anyone else before. Patton never lets him leave the bed long enough to even think about tucking him in. He can’t stop the intrusive thought that slips in, the hint of sorrow and wondering why Patton has never offered to ‘tuck him in’ like Dad’s are supposed to. Virgil knows why. He _knows_ why. 

Thinking about it and forcing his brain to go down those paths to the logical conclusion of what Anxiety really is and how Patton isn’t his dad will only bring him pain. 

Not every part of the scene is perfect of course. Roman’s forehead is still creased, a thick frown even in sleep, betraying the agony that is still burning through his brain. Other than that though, he looks remarkably peaceful, relaxed and content. And quiet, blessedly quiet, Virgil appreciates the quiet possibly more than anything else. 

Huh.

Asleep, Roman isn’t half bad. 

Now that he isn’t constantly in motion, Virgil has a chance to truly study him, without fear that Roman will notice and grow offended. 

They all have the same face but there are differences. Maybe you have to live within Thomas’ head and see them all constantly to notice. Deceit of course is hardly subtle in his desire to stand out, to protect and be something to be feared and thus given power to. Virgil follows that line of thinking himself, although it is less about giving him power and more about just listening to him so they could not die. Roman is very different from any of the others. It’s in his eyes that are normally filled with fire and passion, it is in lips that are designed to be kissable, a face that is supposed to make all the Princesses of the imagination swoon into his arms.

Roman snores again, nose wrinkling up as he does and Virgil is convinced now the fanciful side is indeed drooling into his pillow. 

Clearly none of those princesses had ever seen him asleep, Virgil hiding the half smile on his lips behind his hand. It was strangely endearing, to see him like this, to know that the Prince is the same as the rest of them.

Later, it will no doubt hurt all the more, to know what a relaxed Roman looks like and more to the point, to know he will never see it outside of stolen moments like this. 

He can focus on his self pity further down the line, right now he has a job to do. The very tips of his fingers rest against Roman’s forehead, the heat making Virgil frown deeper. This is more than just a headache, Roman feels positively ill. Virgil can't take an illness but he can at least help at last. Eyes close, Virgil screwed them tightly shut as he pulls, drawing the headache out of Roman in one quick and smooth motion, the pain slamming into him like a truck. 

The intensity of the headache knocks the wind out of him, Virgil’s legs crumpling under his weight as he simply drops to the ground beside Roman’s bed, breath stolen along with all his energy. He slaps both hands against his mouth, trying desperately to stop both scream and sick that wanted to escape, a soft whimper slipping out but thankfully nothing else.

Room is plunged into darkness, Virgil reacting without thought for how he might get out of the room, focused only on reducing the pain. It helps, if only slightly, eases the stabbing sensation in his still closed eyes.

The small part of his brain that was still capable of thought can't help but feel a surge of admiration for Roman, for how strong he really is. Virgil has been coping with this migraine for less than a minute and he already wants to beat his own brains out against a wall, wants to do anything just to make it stop.

Roman somehow managed to power through it for _hours_ , sitting in a well lit room and working through it. He had tried to carry on doing his job for the sake of Thomas. 

Virgil doesn’t know how long he shakes on the floor before the pain can be tied down enough for him to move. Memories and thoughts are fuzzy, his mind being constantly buffeted by lashings of pain slicing across his mind. He eventually crawls out of the room and along the corridor, head dipped low against the ground. So low, in fact, that he knocks it against the carpet once or twice, the vibrations just making him sob harder. He doesn’t dare stop though, no matter how much it hurts or how badly his stomach churns in protest at the movement and begs for stillness he doesn’t dare.

If he stops, he really doesn’t think he will move again and then they will find him flopped on the floor like some pathetic fish and deem him even more of a freak than he already is. 

It feels like an eternity before he pushing his door open, the frame thankfully recognizing his touch and opening without him having to actually climb up to the handle. Inside, there is no need to be strong, nobody to see him break as he lies a few feet away from his bed, his arm a feeble cushion for a head that is far too tender to deal with anything right now.

If Sleep’s words had created doubt in him, made him second guess his actions and wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Roman or Thomas to have a headache now and then, then this agony dispels that.

This is Anxiety’s burden alone. 

\--

Thomas and his growing nerves are what drag him up and out of his uneasy sleep slash period of unconsciousness.

He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to do his job. The headache had faded to a more manageable level at least but it was still there, pounding away. His mouth feels dry and disgusting, Virgil blinking slowly as he shifts through his memories, trying to remember the last time he had a drink. Before going to see Roman the first time at least. He really could do with some water. But that means moving and right now, moving feels like far too much effort.

Suffering in silence sounds like a better plan, Virgil always aware of the bundle of nerves in his chest that connects him to Thomas, a feeling that tells him sooner or later, he might have to put in an appearance. Another reason to rest for as long as he can. 

His clothes are all wrinkled, betraying the fact that he slept in them and just making him feel even more gross. Clothing at least, is easy enough to fix, a simple click of his fingers and it is as though he is wearing brand new clothing, just identity to the mess he made vanish. He might not have the worst of the headache anymore but he is left with a bone aching tiredness to go with the low level hum of pain. Time is the only cure now, time left alone for it to work its way through his system but if Thomas insists on making a video, then time is the one thing Virgil doesn’t have.

Maybe he could just leave it. 

Thomas doesn’t need him every video after all.

He would never force Thomas to not make a video, would never wrestle that control away from him. If it's what Thomas wants, then Virgil will support it, regardless of his own personal feelings. But maybe it is one that doesn’t require his presence. That would be nice. 

Curiosity tugs at him, Virgil rolling over on his back to stare up at the ceiling, his mind reaching out to sort through the thoughts and memories of his host. He needs to see what the plan is at least, Virgil drawing in a sharp, unhappy breath as the answer forms in his mind. Thomas is going to do a video and it is going to be terrible. Sketch my autobiography? That has to be one of the bad ideas Roman had rejected. He can imagine how it happened though, Thomas needing a new idea and his creative side panicking because Virgil was too slow, too lazy. He didn’t give Roman enough time to recover from the headache to come up with a good idea and so he’s going with a bad one just so Thomas has something. 

It’s a copy and people are going to watch the video and hate it. They are going to think Thomas is some talentless hack, his fans are going to be disgusted and turn away and then they will have to get a job that still deals with interacting with people on a daily basis but without the joy creating art brings them all. They are going to hate Roman’s ideas, and no, no, no, no. There will be comments on the video, nasty reviews, ones that will hurt Thomas, will hurt all of them and he can’t have that.

Somehow giving it a different name instead of just acknowledging it is a copy seems to make it worse.

Thomas needs him. 

He forces himself upright, the world spinning a little as he staggers to the little bathroom. Every step hurts, Virgil flinching at the harshness of the light as he flicks it on but he can’t allow himself to slow down, not when Thomas needs him, Thomas needs him, Thomas needs him. 

The mantra is repeated over and over in his mind, Virgil using it to ground himself as he applies his eyeshadow with a shaking hand, a couple of painkillers downed dry after it. Not that painkillers are going to do anything when they are as fake as he is. It’s just the placebo effect but it had to be worth a try, he couldn't face a whole video without something to fight off the pain that will surely be growing in him with every passing moment. Virgil splashes some of the tap water, scooping up a handful to at least wet his throat and sooth it a little. 

He appears just as Thomas does a little shoulder wiggle of excitement as he announces the title of his newest project. 

“Please, tell me you’re joking.”

He isn’t.

Thomas also doesn’t listen to his very reasonable suggestion that instead of making a video, they just go and hide in bed for the rest of the day. It’s about that point that Roman shows up, full of his usual pep and bounce, without any sign that he had been suffering last night at all. He also doesn’t bring up the fact that Virgil had been sneaking around his room, too intent on trying to drag the topic back into some outrageous plan. Virgil is glad about that at least, he doesn’t want to have an awkward conversation where Princey demands to know why he was in his room last night. 

Roman alternates easily between the childish excitement of creating and a deep smoulder as he tries to convince to listen to him. Virgil is amazed Thomas doesn’t instantly fold under that look - it works shockingly well on everyone else. Even him, although Roman has yet to actually use it directly at him, because why would he? Even with the remnants of his headache and knowing the pain it will cause, Virgil can’t help but roll his eyes to try and break the mood and the strange turn his own thoughts have taken.

Virgil tries to pretend as though he is fine as they slip into daydream mode. Everything is far too... much, when they are recording. Extra lights make him feel even paler and weaker, the heat burning into his eyes. The appearance of Logan and Patton as they are dragged up into the video just makes everything more complicated and messy. If it was just Roman, he could probably have talked him into doing something slightly boring but safe and guaranteed to draw a steady view count. But no, the other two will support Roman, even when arguing against him they will chose him over Virgil, which makes it three verses one. They always do. 

He needs this to end, and he is harsher than normal, his desperation masked by his anger and sarcasm. Each suggestion is knocked by down by Virgil and it isn’t as though he is against the idea of making a video, but Roman needs time to recharge his batteries before he can come up with a truly great, original idea. If he wasn’t so set on reaching that particular goal, then perhaps they could have come to some agreement, could have picked something for Thomas to do. Virgil can’t even take the satisfaction of knowing that Roman is better because of him, not when the other side is so focused on driving him up the wall. 

Most of the video is little more than a haze of movement and noise to him, Virgil trying to keep up with the conversation as best he can but losing the threads more often than not and scrambling to keep up. It’s why Roman gets so far into ideas before Virgil can slam the brakes on it. Logan helps too and it is strange to almost be working together with someone for a change, and maybe it won’t be three verses one after all. 

The rap battle is something he will probably enjoy watching later, when he can think clearly.

Right now all he can do is use it as an opportunity to pull his hood back over his head and let the dark material block out a tiny bit of the light. It’s a barely noticeable difference, but it is there. The camera is still recording him, and Virgil panics, suddenly aware of how odd it has to look with him standing there with his hood up. He doesn’t want the viewers to start asking questions, doesn’t want them to demand in even greater numbers that Anxiety leave because he can’t protect Thomas if he’s not here.

He can’t go back into the complete cold, not after feeling the warmth of their presence on his fingertips. 

Virgil smirks, hoping the expression hides the wince of pain every little head bob brings him. 

In the end he is too tired - too hurt, even Logan hates him, even Logan sides with Roman and Virgil was an idiot to imagine otherwise, after everything they did - to argue further, sinking down into the mind without so much as a farewell to Thomas. 

His host doesn’t even acknowledge he’s gone.

\--

He reappears back in his room, breathing rapid and shallow, short little tugs of air as he is trying to remind the world that he is here with every breath but lacks the courage to make any proper declaration of intent. Virgil wraps his arms around himself, trying to hug his bad feelings away.

By the time he has worked up the courage to move, Thomas has gone ahead and filmed the outro without him. He can’t help the stab of pain at that, the loneliness that curls around his heart and sinks into it. Virgil isn’t foolish enough to think he is actually part of the family, a few breakfasts aren’t enough to change a lifetime of being the outcast. For either him or them and it shouldn’t hurt that they don’t even seem to realise he isn’t there. Or they don’t care.

It’s the first time in a while that Virgil didn’t take part in the outro for the video and he can’t help but notice how well it went without him. Without Anxiety around, they all seemed... well better. No need to constantly be on guard all the time, to have to be constantly looking over their shoulders. The difference in Logan is the most remarkable, the logical side actually allowing himself a moment of levity, actually posing in the mask Roman had created. 

Patton says something to make Roman scream but even that is more dramatic than actually annoyed. Yeah, the outro works better without him. 

Virgil wonders if they prefer it like that.

Of course they do. 

From the shadows at the top of the stairs, Virgil has a good view of the scene playing out in front of him. He could walk down, could announce his presence and watch as they all changed because of it. They would all close themselves off again, and if he is lucky they might not outright tell him to leave. Or, he could stay up here, out of the way and allow them to live their lives without the physical representation of a storm cloud hanging over them. He’s used to sitting curled up at the top of the stairs, hiding in plain sight while the other three go about their business. 

It’s creepy, he knows. 

Watching them from his little perch, drinking in every little moment of normality they have and twisting it in his own head to imagine what it would be like if he was down there with him, if maybe they looked at him and saw something else than a monster, a defeatist, a creature to be pitied. 

Defeatist. He thinks he hates that word more than anything in the world, no matter how accurately it sums up his personality. 

Below him, Roman gives a little twirl in the center of the room demanding all attention be focused back on him. As if the attention was ever off him, thanks to his fit from a moment ago and now this. Whatever Patton said to make Roman screech like some unholy bat is quickly forgotten, the Prince returning to his original topic, voice increasing in volume. 

“Did you hear that?” Roman is almost bouncing around the common room, hands lifting to clap together in excited little pats. Virgil leans forward a fraction, drawn closer now he can actually hear Roman properly, curious as to what he is talking about. When will he ever learn?

Curiosity kills the cat. Or in this case, hurts the anxious facet. 

“Thomas called me his hero!” Roman looks so unbelievably proud of himself, even more excited than when Thomas had started talking about his time on a Disney show. He looks like might start raining glitter and stars down on the room in sheer joy at the thought. 

“I mean I always knew, but still! I'm his hero!”

Virgil pulls himself quietly to his feet, stepping further back into shadow and fleeing to his own room before anyone can notice he was there. 

He doesn't want to hear any more of the story. He doesn’t want to hear Roman being the hero, he doesn’t want to hear the other two affirm their own usefulness to Thomas and how they are needed because it will only make his own absence feel more noticable. It will only draw attention to the anomaly that is Anxiety, and how he is never going to be considered anyone’s hero. 

He’s never going to be the good guy.


	16. See how deep the bullet lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And then there was Logan. Logan who had said he didn’t mind his company. That while he was wrong - hurt rises up in him at that, something hot but so brief, a passing flush of pain that he couldn't actually hold onto and he isn’t wrong, he can’t be wrong because if Virgil really is wrong about so many things then that means he has been hurting Thomas so many times when he didn’t need to. And Virgil doesn’t know it he is ever going to be strong enough to handle that.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> In which Virgil learns it isn’t maybe the end of the world to be wrong about a couple of things... and that books are neat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, a day before my normal posting day! I wasn’t going to be around tomorrow and I didn’t want to leave you guys either waiting another week or pushed back an extra day and since I had it ready to go, I thought I would just post it early. 
> 
> We are getting close to the big moments in Virgil’s life, who's excited? I know I am! But first, this chapter. There are, weirdly enough, spoilers for the book _Murder on the Orient Express_ in this chapter so be aware if you’ve never read it or watched any of the tv or film adaptations. Video covered is _My Negative Thinking_ , as always any dialogue taken from that belongs to Thomas and Joan.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from _Running up that Hill_ , originally by **Kate Bush** but I was listening to the **Placebo** cover when I wrote this. [in my humble opinion, the better version.]
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at @theeternalspace and as always, comments and kudos feed my soul!

****

### **See how deep the bullet lies**

**  
**

Virgil tries to avoid interacting with Thomas after the audition. 

He knows he is going to be blamed for it, he just knows it. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t his fault. Sure he had been there, nervously pacing around Thomas as he had practised and sure he had maybe derailed their thoughts for a ten minute panic on how they were dressed completely differently to anyone else here and his shirt did not go with the ascetics of the stage. The director was going to hate Thomas based on his shirt colour alone. And maybe he had whispered lots of very tempting thoughts about running out the door and leaving this whole lifestyle of being an actor behind them. There was still time to return to science. Or become a hermit living in the woods off berries. At least, until they ate the wrong berries and died. They are going to fail and have to become a hermit and eat berries and die if Thomas can’t get this role. 

Maybe he did all that. 

But he had stepped back when the moment came. He had let Thomas have his chance, had allowed Roman the opportunity to come bounding out without even a look in Virgil’s direction, ready to stand beside Thomas as he sung his heart out. 

It wasn’t his fault that the whole thing turned out to be a trainwreck. 

These things happen. Thomas messed up and he can’t swallow down the grim and nasty feeling that if Thomas had just _listened_ to him, had done as he had suggested then the whole horrible situation could have been avoided. Roman wouldn’t have been battered and bruised and _hurt_ if they just hadn’t tried. It’s hard to remember, in these moments, why he wants Thomas to become an actor, why he supports something that can so easily hurt all of them.

Virgil hides in his bedroom, blanket over his head, trying to block out the world as best he can. It is impossible to block out Thomas completely though, not unless he wants to remove himself from Thomas and he isn’t ready to do that, Thomas still needs him. For the moment at least. It means that he can feel the moment his host starts a video, Virgil shrinking into a smaller ball on his bed as he goes through the intro and no, Roman isn’t ready for a video, none of them are. 

To his surprise, Thomas turns to Logan for reassurance. He asks the question, the one that Virgil really, really hoped he wouldn’t ask. Because Virgil knows full well how Thomas did and he has no option but to tell him that. Virgil feels himself pulled into the video, a sarcastic comment already coming out of his mouth, hoping it masks his frustration. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to be kicking Thomas when he is already down but while he might not want to be here, Virgil is and this is indeed what Virgil does. 

Thomas actually tries to say something... something nice? About Virgil? Something that implies he can be more than the scary voice growling in the back of his head. 

Virgil can’t have that, interrupting him before he can voice the thought out loud. He can’t handle the idea of Thomas even thinking that because he will only disappoint him sooner rather than later. Better to be the bad guy and feared, because it is more likely he will at least listen to him now and then. He barely listens as it is anyway. 

To his even bigger surprise, Logan doesn’t immediately point the finger at Anxiety, doesn’t demand he take the blame. 

Logan does demand a debate however, and while Virgil really doesn’t want to take part in it, he also can’t deny how excited Logan had seemed at the idea. How eager for it and Virgil isn’t that much of a monster that he would crush that. He certainly isn’t keen on the idea, blinking a couple of times as comforting familiarity of Thomas’ living room is replaced by a stage in an auditorium.

It’s large. So large and no, no, no, there are so many open spaces, so many rows of chairs behind the seat Thomas has settled in as the debate master. Its large and cavernous, a stage with two podium places and it is almost exactly like the nightmares Virgil has about highschool. To be fair though, he has a lot of nightmares based around Thomas’ time in high school. It wasn’t a pretty time for him, a busy time sure but not one he likes to think about.

So of course, he spends a lot of time thinking about it, and reminding Thomas of their greatest terrible hits of school time. It’s particularly relevant at six in the morning when they wake up early and think they can get a headstart on the day only for Virgil to decide its better they remember the morning someone spilt juice on them and nobody believed it was only juice. This room is too much like the time they went to sing for a school play only to have their voice crack in the middle thanks to puberty. It brings far too many negative emotions for Virgil. 

Only the fact that all the chairs behind Thomas are empty keeps him from running off the stage right there and then. 

Logan wants this. No, he can see that Logan _needs_ this. For whatever reason, he wants to try and prove himself to Thomas, prove that he can be useful in an area that only a few minutes previously he was saying it wasn’t his area and appeared unwilling to be involved. Maybe he just has been itching to prove Virgil wrong all this time, the thought settling deep into his mind and refusing to be dislodged. 

If that is what this is about, then Virgil is ready to actually try - no matter how he might outwardly claim or act - because he knows he is right, he knows he is doing the best he can in a bad situation and he is just tired of being drowned out by everyone else, by nobody ever listening to him.

All he wants is someone to listen to him, just now and then. Why is that so bad? Such a terrible thing that every other aspect of Thomas’ personality must band together in unlikely groups to thwart him. He is just trying to protect him in his own way after all. 

Virgil does his best not to flinch when Thomas asks for his name. They are all actors to various degrees and he is skilled at actings as though things didn’t matter to him, insults and actions sliding off his back just like water off a duck. Quack. 

Still, there are no words for how he feels to have Thomas ask for his name, for his host to so casually and completely demolish the most important moment of Virgil’s existence as he proves yet again he has no memory of that night. He wouldn’t believe Virgil even if he told him about it, if he said he was named by him, and there is no way Virgil is going to go through that kind of pain. He isn’t going to listen to Thomas deny or dismiss that night and so he simply refuses to share his name.

They argue. Debate. Whatever. It’s stupid and pointless and Virgil pushes his own feelings as far down as best he can, tries to act bored and uninvolved. 

Eventually it all becomes too much. Too much of being _wrong_ , too much of hurting Thomas with how he thinks, how he twists things and how can Logan still not see that they messed things up with the barista? Or that they should take more notice of the numbers attached to Thomas’ videos and while panicking and/or crying wasn’t a long term solution, it could at least let some of immediate feelings out and then Virgil was perfectly prepared to let Logan take over and work out a plan to do better next time. Not be completely dismissed and ignored once more. 

Virgil is just tired of this, tired of the debate, and tired of being the one nobody listens to. He’s not even hurting, that pain fading and he doesn’t really know what that means. Maybe it's a good thing, he is finally growing a thicker skin, finally getting used to being the useless screw up. All he knows is that he is wrong and evil yet again and he just wants to sleep in his bed for the next several weeks until Thomas has his next major dilemma. So probably just the next several hours. 

There isn’t even any energy in him to make some sarcastic remark or listen to whatever smug comment Logic has on his victory. 

He’s pulled back up in surprise at Logan telling him he has done a good job.

Nobody has ever said anything even close to like that to Anxiety and he honestly has no idea how to take it. Virgil can feel his shoulders hunch higher, as though he can somehow shield himself from whatever trick this is and it has to be a trick surely? Logan doesn’t like him, Logan thinks he’s a defeatist so how can that match up with the idea that he did a good job? Not to mention the hiss when it had been that or crying.

Logan... doesn’t mind his company.

He doesn't... _Logic doesn’t mind **Anxiety’s** company._

Virgil... Virgil doesn’t know what to make of that knowledge, and although he agrees that sometimes Patton and Roman are just too bright and cheerful for him to handle he hadn’t realised Logan felt the same way. Logan was their friend, surely that meant he was used to the endless sunshine. Virgil has never considered the fact that the voices inside his head amplifying his own anxiety might be telling lies about how they saw him. That he might be subject to cognitive distortions on that level himself. 

It had seemed so simple so... logical. He did what he did to help Thomas and the other main sides didn’t like it. So of course that would translate to meaning they didn’t like him because who could like a gloomy cloud that just pointed out every possible bad thing that could and would happen.

Maybe being wrong isn’t as bad as Virgil has always thought, and he holds those words close to his chest, every positive word to be examined later and he swears his heart might burst at a joy that refuses to be contained. He especially enjoys Logan slipping into slang when Roman finally bursts back into the room - although of course he is instantly blamed for it because why not?

Even that pleasure doesn’t last as long as it should, fading away sooner than he would have liked, and leaving him confused and cold once more. 

\--

Logan has a book club.

Of course Logan has a book club. Virgil isn't surprised by that fact. What does surprise him is that Logan wants him to join said book club.

Virgil is curled up in the corner of the common room in the mind, trying to stay out of everyone’s way as best he can. Normally, he would be in his room at this time of day. It isn’t breakfast or a video and so there is no need for him to here, watching the others and generally just bringing the mood down. In the past, he would have spent every minute he could holed up in his room, sneaking down for energy bars and drinks whenever he thought the rest of them weren’t in the room. He did everything he could to avoid contact, terrified that the mere sight of him would be enough to make them banish him back into the darker side of Thomas’ mind. Virgil isn’t going to lie - he is still afraid of that, that he might one day push them too far. 

It’s like an itch though. 

The desire to be around them, even though they have told him in their words and actions so many times that they don’t want him or worse, they pity him and allow his presence because of that alone. He’s desperate and pathetic enough to take the contact, even on those terms, he swallows what little remains of his pride in order to just be with them from a distance. He still hides at the top of the stairs more often than not, watching them but every couple of days or so, Virgil risks actually going down those stairs, skittish, ready to flee the moment the mood turns against him. 

It’s exhausting even being in the same room as any of them and he can normally only manage an hour or so before he has to hide away again, replaying the interactions he has seen over and over in his head. Never aimed at him though. If’s lucky, Roman will ignore him, Logan is always too busy and while Patton might try now and then to include him, a couple of hisses are normally all it takes for the parental side to leave him alone. Probably with a plate of cookies not so subtly pushed in his direction but still alone.

The desire has only gotten worse since the latest video, when Logan had actually expressed positive emotions towards him. Patton loves him. Virgil has always known that but you can love someone without knowing them or even liking them very much. It was practically Patton’s job to love him, although the small, traitorous organ that is his heart whispers that it is so much more with Patton. Patton shows him more than just the love he is required. Patton shows him honest affection that goes far beyond duty, his heart pulling up memories of cupcakes, of the pair of them cuddled together on Patton’s bed. The way his hands would feel against his own or playing through his hair as Patton talked about any random thing under the sun. Alone, it is easier to let Patton in, to let him show some of that love as if it means something, as if Virgil means something real to him.

Virgil wishes he could believe his own heart. But it's been wrong before. So many times and the heartbreak caused each time was almost enough to destroy him.

He honestly doesn’t think he could survive it now, after tasting what it was like to be tolerated, if Patton turned around and told him to go away. Again. Sometimes, Virgil thinks he never got past that day when they were seven. It would hurt all the more now though, because he has clawed his way back to something with them, something that he can’t quite define. Something, that if Virgil took the time to actually think about, he would have to acknowledge that he didn’t want to define what he has managed to make with them because it would at once be too much for him to handle and too little for what his greedy, grasping heart really wants. 

And then there was Logan. Logan who had said he didn’t mind his company. That while he was wrong - hurt rises up in him at that, something hot but so brief, a passing flush of pain that he couldn't actually hold onto and he isn’t wrong, he can’t be wrong because if Virgil really is wrong about so many things then that means he has been hurting Thomas so many times when he didn’t need to. And Virgil doesn’t know it he is ever going to be strong enough to handle that. It doesn't matter, because despite the small dig at him, despite the idea of his wrongness being some rotting, physical thing in the air around them, the important thing is what came after. Logan who doesn’t necessarily mind his company. That's a glowing compliment coming from the logical side. 

Logan who is standing in front of him, clutching a book Virgil can’t quite see the title of close to his chest, something akin to... nervousness in his eyes. Virgil slowly lifts hands up to pull his headphones down to around his neck, wanting to make sure he heard Logan properly but being too nervous to actually ask. Thankfully, Logan seems to have worked that out - or maybe simply too impatient to wait for the query of clarification when it is clear Virgil hadn’t heard him the first time. 

“Would you be interested in partaking in discussions of various books of the month, chosen on a rotating basis with each Side allowed one Veto every six months?”

For a moment something akin to hope beats wildly in his chest, rising up and filling him, something bright and sparkling, something he can almost tast- 

“Oh please,” groans Roman, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. He lifts a hand to his head in an overly dramatic pose that sets Virgil’s teeth on edge, all woe is me, the rest of the world is filled with morons. Hope turns to ash in his mouth, dying before it can be properly born.

Roman isn’t even looking at them, head still tilted to stare upwards at the ceiling, his arm half covering his face. Virgil feels his own grow hotter in turn, fighting every flight instinct in his body. He has every right to be here, Logan is talking to _him_. He can stay, the Prince isn't going to chase him away, no matter how badly he wants to just run.

The fanciful side is still feeling a little fragile after the dreaded audition and trying to knock Anxiety down always seems to rise him up. It always hurts too but it's only recently that Virgil has been able to put a finger on why the insults flung his way burrow so deep. Roman’s words have become more and more hurtful, because he can't pretend after the events of the Thomas’ original video, that he doesn't care what the Prince thinks of him. The way everyone had chosen Roman’s side over his, the way Roman had thanked everyone - well, almost everyone. It had struck home in a way nothing had before, that he had wanted those words aimed at him. He wanted Roman to say nice things about him.

He cares what Roman thinks of him. Isn't that a kick in the teeth. To make matters worse, Virgil knows that Roman’s views aren't going to change. For better or for worse, he sees the world in black or white. Virgil seems to exist in a permanent state of grey, each unable to see the others point of view. 

“Assuming he can even read, what are you going to do, lend him the book? Letting Anxiety borrow things always ends poorly. Believe me, I know.” 

It seems as though he isn’t the only one half stuck in their seven year old selves, Virgil forcing himself to breathe out through his nose and calm the rising nausea that feels as though it is trying to rise up in him. He needs to keep calm, a hundred thoughts flashing through his mind like quicksilver. Virgil wants to tell him to shut up, that Logan hadn’t been talking to him, that of course he can read, he’s not a moron and Logan doesn’t need to lend him anything because a copy can just be made. He doesn't of course, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth, cloy and clagging. 

He can’t find the words to defend himself without being sharp and cruel, without cutting into Roman and he - he doesn’t want that. Virgil is just tired, the pain slipping away like tiny grains of sand. He can feel shard of ice rise up around his heart to protect it, try and push away the agony that Roman’s words can cause. His eyes feel hot, threatening tears, Virgil forgetting the words that won’t come to instead focus on making sure he doesn’t cry.

“This is my book club Roman,” Logan reminds him sharply. Virgil blinks a little, the wetness vanishing, feeling his center thrown a little off kilter by the words, by how Logan is apparently on his side this time. 

It’s not the first time one of the other sides has defended him, but it confuses him each and every time they do it because they never seem to want anything in return. Virgil doesn't understand why they would do it, why they would waste effort and energy, and only on him. Before it had always been Patton or the situation had occurred during the breakfast table, when the supposed truce between them was still in place but one of them forgot. Patton was always very good at defusing tension in those cases.

There is no peace here to be broken. Logan doesn’t need to defend him. Logan doesn’t need to ask him at all. Perhaps that means he actually wants him to join his book club? It’s a ridiculous idea, but the logic he has used seems solid. Logan is not the sort to play pranks, so that rules out any chance that this is all some giant joke designed to humiliate little Anxiety. 

At least, he hopes it rules out that chance and why did Logan have to say anything at all? Now Virgil has to respond, has to take a risk one way or the other and he doesn’t like change. Things staying the same is always better as far as he is concerned, even when it hurts, even when he is unhappy - he’s not unhappy, he tells himself, he can’t be and it wouldn’t matter if he was because he doesn’t like change and the risks involved. Better to be unhappy and safe. If he was unhappy. Which he wasn’t. 

“Well, how about it Anxiety?” Logan’s question drags him out of the spiral his mind had latched onto, and return to the problem at hand. 

“I would be curious to hear your views on the novel we are currently reading. I have already taken the liberty of procuring a copy of it for you.”

Virgil looks down, unable to meet that slightful hopeful expression any longer. It is surprisingly open. There is no malicious intent in Logan’s eyes and Virgil is used to finding that spark of anger and hate in another’s eyes. He knows how to spot it but there had been nothing there, nothing that would so much as hint that Logan is anything other than honest in his desire to actually hear - and listen - to what Virgil might think about a book.

Logan’s apparent sincerity just sets his anxiety on edge, a nervous, twisting feeling in his stomach that isn’t even about his doubts as to if this is real anymore as it is the near crushing reality that there is no way he can live up to what Logan wants. He isn’t as smart as Logic and just because he managed okay in one debate, doesn’t mean he can bring to the table the type of detailed reasoning and thoughts that Logan will no doubt expect. He can’t do that, he’ll just mess up and then this weird little maybe friendship that they might have - Virgil still hasn’t worked up the courage to ask if not dislike actually means they are friends - will just explode into dust. 

Virgil doesn’t know what to say, his hands nervously lifting to play with the little drawstrings of his hood, letting his fingers dance as they will in order to distract him and keep him calm. They move rapidly, betraying his nerves as his mind twists and turns as rapidly, Logan apparently content to let him stew in his own worry. Or maybe, that's one of those cognitive distortions and he is just patient, happy to let Virgil think about it properly. 

How he wishes he knew the difference. How to ask which one it was without sounding like some pathetic little child in need of constant validation and reassurance. Fingers tremble a little as they carry on their mindless dance. He should say no. Roman doesn't want him there and is just going to carry on moaning about it at every possible opportunity. 

Plus, social interaction and he hates that.

On the other hand, Logan has already made a book for him, and it would be terribly rude to turn him down after he had gone to all that effort. Logan clearly expects or hopes that he will say yes and is ready for Virgil to start reading this very moment. It’s a lot of pressure, and Virgil doesn’t do very well under pressure. He looks back up again, mouth opening a closing a couple of times helplessly. 

Behind Logan, Roman has shifted from his pose, sensing that he was being ignored and apparently not liking that. His eyes are narrowed a little as he watches the scene play out in front of him, a disgruntled expression on his face. At least Virgil is right about that, right about the fact that Roman would consider his presence an annoyance. 

Spite stirs in him, something heavy and alive. It’s almost a relief to feel it. Virgil knows spite, he _understands_ spite. It gives him the courage to finally speak, answer slipping out a tone he is inwardly proud is steady. 

“Sure Logan. Could be fun.”

\--

The book is Agatha Christie's _Murder on the Oriental Express_.

He's never read it, and that fact makes Logan’s eyes light up, something almost devilish in his expression. If he wasn’t the serious, logical side, Virgil would have expected him to rub his hands together in a childlike glee. Unsurprisingly, it makes some of his anxieties flair up at that, Virgil having to give himself a serious lecture that this isn’t some nasty trick. They’ve already been over this, his fears and his brain, his heart and his rational parts. Logan isn’t trying to trip him up, Logan is excited sure but there is no proof he’s excited for a cruel reason. The idea that maybe he’s excited to hear Virgil’s thoughts, to be proven right when Roman argued against it, doesn’t make the bile settle any easier in his throat because he doesn’t know how to live up to Logan’s hopes. 

Virgil is shuffling along back to his room after a late night trip to the kitchen to make some coffee - decaffeinated because of the time of night and clearly he is spending too much with Patton or Logan, that he actually cares what the stuff is doing to his insides - when he next really speaks to Logan about the book.

“Anxiety. You're up late.”

“Same to you Specs,” Virgil mumbles back, fighting back the yawn that wants to escape. It’s too late to be awake but he knows the demons in his mind won’t let him rest for hours yet. Better to stay awake rather than risk those nightmares slipping past him to infect Thomas. That doesn’t explain what the logical side is doing up at three in the morning when all good little sides should be safely tucked away in bed. Logan gives his cup a rather pointed look. 

“It's decaf,” he adds, the strange urge to justify his choice of drink rising up in him. The proud smile on Logan’s face does funny things to Virgil’s insides, things he will have to examine carefully in painstaking detail later on.

“I was just getting a glass of water,” Logan tells him, answering the question Virgil didn’t have the nerve to ask. “How far are you in this months book?”

“Like half way maybe? Is the deadline coming up soon?” Virgil could have sworn that Logan had said they met at the end of every month to give them all time to fully read and digest the story but maybe he had misheard or misunderstood and he was meant to have detailed thoughts and theories now. Some of his panic must have shown on his face, Logan clicking his tongue a little against the roof of his mouth and lifting a hand in an attempt to calm him.

“Relax Anxiety. You still have time. I was merely curious as your views so far as to the unfolding of the plot and pacing of the mystery.” 

“Oh.” Well, it wasn’t as bad as he has feared, but it's still pretty bad because it means trying to gather up his scattered thoughts on the fly and give some sensible, well put together thoughts that Logan wouldn’t regret asking for. 

“I have to admit, I envy you.”

Virgil blinks a couple of times, trying to understand what Logan had meant, all previous thoughts forgotten in the face of this far more confusing problem. That is yet another thing nobody had ever said that about him before. Logan is full of surprises it seems. The idea of anyone envying him is... beyond him and he finds himself repeating his own words from the video, desperate enough to seek the clarity that a child might demand. 

“What do you mean?”

“To be able to read such a masterpiece for the first time. While improbable and impractical, I would leap at the chance to be able to forget, so to speak, the plots of some of my favorite books in order to enjoy that moment of discovery fresh. So...” Logan trails off, an expectant look on his face. “What do you think so far?”

“Well...” Virgil pauses, lips pulsed tightly together as he considers his words carefully, wanting to say something intelligent. In all honesty, he was enjoying it, but not as much as he feels Logan would like him too. It certainly doesn't feel like a masterpiece, like the classic that Logan implied it would be, but Virgil has idea how he is supposed to say any of this. 

“I mean there are a lot of little things that don't make sense. Weird clues that seem to have been thrown in just to make it all more confusing. The whole red kimono showing up in his suitcase? That doesn’t tie in at all, nobody could have worn it. Not to mention the extra conductor, it's like I’m reading the stage notes for the murder. If I didn’t know better, I would say they had all done it it something.” 

“What?” 

Virgil feels himself shrink a little under the sudden stern gaze Logan is giving him, that single word cutting and cold.

“You're sure you've never read it before?” Logan questions, words sharp and making him feel as though he has done something wrong although Virgil is completely lost as to what. Unless it was disdain over having such a ridiculous idea and that had to be it, Logan was just appalled that he would have such a theory even in jest and was rethinking his invitation to join the book club in the first place. Virgil swallows down the automatic reaction to snap at him, to lash out and demand answers. Instead, he forces himself to breath in and out a few times before replying. 

“Positive dude, why?”

“No... no reason. Keep reading.” 

It certainly doesn’t feel like its no reason and Virgil hates the fact there is clearly some other conversation going on here, something flying over his head that he doesn’t understand. Something that hopefully the end of the book will explain, pointing out just how much of an idiot he really had been in this conversation.

“Anyway, I had better get my water. Try and sleep at a reasonable hour Anxiety.” 

Logan leaves, Virgil staring after him in bewilderment, still adrift from whatever had just happened and he wasn’t completely convinced that the logical facet was not angry with him. His shape has vanished down the hallway and out of sight before Virgil can really think of how to word the confusion in his mind, another lost opportunity slipping through his fingers. 

He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a frustrated sigh on his lips. What is wrong with him, that he can never think of the right thing to say, until someone is long gone and the moment is passed? Now wondering what Logan actually meant is just going to drive him insane, Virgil sighing again and turning to carry on heading back to his room.

Two steps further and he pauses once more.

Logan hasn’t shut his door all the way. Virgil knows he should just carry on walking, head back to his room and finish the book just in case the deadline comes up sooner than he expected but staring at that crack, he is struck by the near overwhelming urge to push open the door and enter. To bask for a couple of seconds in the energy that is Logan, without having to actually do any further socialising, to let the calmness of logic still the confusing thoughts that are ever swirling in his mind. 

The choice is made before he is even really aware of it, door pushed quietly open, Virgil taking a single step inside. His heart is beating like crazy, mouth dry as he stands there, aware that this is wrong, that he is betraying Logan’s trust by sneaking in here without his permission.

The heightened anxiety of breaking rules renders any positive effect the room might have moot. This was a mistake, he should never have come here and he needs to go, quickly, before Logan comes back and finds him standing there the creepy pathetic side he is. 

Yet again, something catches his eye as he turns to leave, the hot coffee swirling in his mug. The Alice in Wonderland puzzle book is sitting right there. Sticking slightly out from under a stack of books, the familiar black cover bringing a whole host of memories to him.

Virgil wants it.

No, Virgil _needs_ it.

Logan won’t mind if he borrows it just for a little while, surely? He will give it back tomorrow. He would ask, but Logan isn’t here and he has to go, he has to get back to the safety of his room, now, now, now. Hands feel clammy as he puts his mug down, carefully sliding the book out from the pile. Virgil barely pauses to grab his drink once more, before he is bolting out of the room and back into his own, his stolen - borrowed - treasure hot in his hands. 

Alone in his room, Virgil hugs the book close, feeling a little bit of that logical calmness seep from it. He allows it to settle him, the murder mystery novel forgotten for the moment as he focused on the more important thing of puzzles and putting his brain to work in a more relaxing fashion, enjoying the slightly darker tone within. Coffee is also discarded, growing cold as he flicks through the book into the early hours of the morning. 

Virgil doesn’t return it the next night. Or the night after that. Or even, the night after that, until there comes a point that he doesn’t know how to return it without making it obvious that he stole it in the first place. All he can do is hope that Logan never notices it is missing. 

If he does, at least he doesn’t mention it, Virgil using the puzzles to calm his brain almost every night.


	17. Caught in the undertow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Another day, another video. He has taken a mild headache from Patton before they start recording, one that he knows the father side could probably handle on his own, but one he can't risk leaving in case it grows into something worse, something that causes real pain instead of just a vague discomfort. Sleep probably wouldn’t approve but then Sleep has spent another night at a concert instead of doing his job so really? Sleep can bite him.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil lives through another few videos and starts to wonder a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a bit inspired, so have a surprise chapter.
> 
> Two videos this time! We’re covering _Growing up_ and _Making some Changes_. Also a **Warning** Virgil is slipping into a dark place as this chapter comes to a close, so please be aware of that. 
> 
> Chapter title is from _Numb_ by **Linkin Park.** I tend to write a chapter with the same song on repeat, not always but it certainly influences the chapter more often than not.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at @theeternalspace and as always, comments and kudos feed my soul!

****

### **Caught in the undertow**

**  
**

It’s like a miracle.

As if every Christmas has come at once. Not that Virgil really knows what Christmas is actually like. His knowledge is mostly limited to movies, books and trying to stay out of first the Dark Sides and then the Light Sides way as they went about their own jolly business. Or, in the case of the darker elements, not so jolly, how can we try and ruin Christmas this year, business. They never managed, although it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Virgil wishes he could say that he had stopped them. That he had snuck out of his room and under cover of night, done whatever he could to keep it secret but make sure they didn’t hurt Thomas. 

He had been too scared. Too little and too alone. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was all he had to explain why he had simply covered his ears with his hands and tried to block the world out while they had their own idea of a party. It wasn’t until after he had moved upstairs that he even worked up the courage to do something about them. Maybe it was because he knew he wouldn’t have to face them every day and so he could ruin their day in order to save Thomas’.

The first Christmas living solely with the Light Sides is hard. Roman makes it clear he is not invited to join in with their celebrations. Christmas is for family, is for happy memories 

That’s fine. Virgil has his own plans and he knows his complete lack of caring throws Roman off a little, makes him suspicious and thing he is planning something of his own. Let him think what he wants because Roman is right - Christmas is a time of joy, of happy families and good memories. It's a time Virgil is going to fight to the death to protect, even if its taken him far too many years to work that out. They have their party and he spends that time guarding them, keeping all negative thoughts from ruining Christmas for them or Thomas. It's the least that Virgil can do.

Regardless, it's still a miracle.

Logan agreeing with him, Virgil is just about prepared to understand and expect. So long as he approaches it from a logical over an emotional point of view then there is actually a fairly even chance that they would have roughly the same thoughts if not the same details. But Roman agreeing with him? Siding with him?

Well, Virgil would have expected the world to end before that happened. 

He’s not alone, he’s not alone, he’s not _alone._

Sure, they all have slightly different takes on the matter but the important thing is they each agree that Thomas needed to do more in order to be happy, that Birthday shouldn’t just be a celebration but was always a chilling reminder of the endless passage of time and everything that still needs to be done. 

Thomas’ whimper at the thought of Virgil visiting even more often than he normally does stings, a sharp cut against his finger tips. Fine, over in a flash like the feel of the edge of paper against skin but it bleeds far more than it has any right too. It’s not like this is the first time Thomas has been horrified at the thought of spending time with him. Plus, he’s going to keep doing some of it at least, so Virgil doesn’t need to worry about behind banished to the back of the mind once more. Like blood draining away from a cut, the pain, while intense, is over before he can properly catalogue it, swept along by the video that certainly isn’t going to pause while Virgil tries to understand his own feelings. 

The pain isn’t the strangest thing about the video. It isn’t even the fact that Logan and Roman are agreeing with him - more so, acknowledging that they agree with him. 

No, the strangest thing is they don’t all eventually twist it so Virgil is the one at fault. Things are always Anxiety’s fault. That’s the _point_ of Anxiety, he gets blamed so others don’t have to. He makes the suggestions and ideas that people decide they don’t want to listen to, and is shunned for it. Even when the others make a mistake, he has always been left with a slightly sour taste in his mouth, as though the mistake was made only because of Virgil’s influence in the first place. Sure, Logan hadn't blamed him last time but that had just been the two of them, he had just assumed - assuming is wrong, he should know better than to do that, he needs to remember Logan’s lessons, his list of cognitive distortions something Virgil would whisper to himself in the dark - but still, he had assumed with everyone in the room, it would be back to Virgil the villain.

For the first time, that isn’t happened. It isn’t Virgil’s fault apparently, not even indirectly. No, it is all Patton’s fault. It feels wrong to be blaming Patton for everything, Virgil regretting that he had said anything at all, even if it had only been one comment compared to the number Logan and Roman throw out, the two apparently intoxicated by their alliance to even consider how Patton has to be feeling. For once though, everyone is blaming someone else. 

It would be impossible not to carried along by this momentum, not to get lost a little in the rush of dopamine that comes with being on the popular side for once.

Patton’s emotions churn away in him, Virgil able to feel the slowly rising panic, the anxiety at the idea that he might be swept back, pushed aside and ignored expect for his most basic function. That he wouldn't be able to contribute anything else and Virgil knows only too well what it is like to be scared of that, to be ignored and swept by. To a degree, it is his own life, and he is constantly buffeted by the waves that want to ruin him, Virgil can’t let the same fate befall Patton.

This is wrong.

Virgil doesn't know how to fix it, eyes flickering nervously between the arguing sides as he looks for something else they can talk about. Stay on the subject of helping Thomas grow up if that was what was needed but stop hurting Patton to do it, Virgil feeling his own anxiety build up, slowly but surely and he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long before they start tossing out ideas on how to improve their shared lifestyle.

The idea of Thomas and his friends starting a book club is one of Logan’s more silly suggestions - necktie none withstanding. Yes, the sides have a book club, but he is pretty sure the whole thing is run by Logan, for Logan and the others join in just to keep the logical side happy. They probably do things just for Patton and just for Roman, things they haven't invited Anxiety to. They don't do anything just for Virgil. Unless it’s letting him stay with them at all and he knows he should be grateful for that mercy alone. He should express how grateful he is, but there is always the little undercurrent of fear that admitting how much he cares about something will only open the door to being punished for that something. Will lead to them acting funny around him, like Logan and his book.

At least he reached the end of the book they had been reading and learnt why Logan had reacted so strangely to what he had thought was a ridiculous theory on his part. It doesn’t make him feel better, but at least he understands now what had caused that reaction, one less thing in an endless list of things to worry about. This video is creating a whole subsection on that list.

Despite all the ideas and his half hearted suggestions, he is pretty sure Logan is wrong though, that this whole thing is still wrong. Even thinking it feels strange, as if he is somehow commiting a sin but Virgil is more and more convinced that belittling Patton and everything he does to help, is not the way to help Thomas become a better person - which is all Virgil really wants from life. 

Not to mention, Thomas looks like The Man in that outfit. And he fights The Man. 

Thomas is unhappy with all of this, Virgil gently nudging his own influence into him, soft whispers to inspire his host to speak out because in the end, it is only through Thomas that they can fix any of this, He whispers it’s wrong, whispers that living for nothing more than a possible future is wrong, that they need a goal, a purpose beyond that. That they need to have fun. It’s strange to be arguing for the inclusion of ‘fun’, of wanting them to go back to a slightly risky lifestyle but it's better than the nothingness Thomas would become if they go down this route and deny Patton completely. 

Whispers are inaudible to the rest as they bicker amongst themselves, inaudible even to Thomas’ conscious thoughts, Virgil letting his influence snake through him slowly, slipping into gaps that his host probably doesn’t even know are there to be exploited like this. It’s sneaky and underhand, because it doesn’t even give the others a chance to say their part but Virgil is desperate to just make this _stop_. 

He won’t let this go on any longer, Virgil internally breathing a sigh of relief when Thomas finally admits that he isn’t happy this way, the anxious side ever so slowly pulling himself out. Everyone’s focus is on Patton, which makes it easier for him to do it, Virgil well versed in the art of being ignored. Even when he wishes he wasn’t. 

Because they don’t listen of course. They never do. He pretty much announces he doesn’t like what he does, doesn’t like what he is. He doesn’t want to work hard, to get Thomas all anxious and worked up, and yet like everything he says, nothing changes.

Nobody notices that he doesn’t like himself. 

The first mind palace Roman conjures up reminds Virgil uncomfortably of the creative side’s own room, the only saving grace being he can at last react how he wanted to in the first place, Virgil feeling a tiny measure of satisfaction in letting some of his feelings out in a shout. 

The second attempt is far more impressive, and even Virgil can admire how each area is tailored to their interests or their personality. His is just a dark corner, but it's still a lot more than he expected to have gotten, the fact that they had bothered at all making a strange, unfamiliar feeling tug at him for a couple of moments. He doesn’t know what it meant exactly, but he can examine his feelings in this moment later, once he has worked through every other earth shattering moment this video has brought him.

Roman and Logan had already left, Virgil feeling something inside of him relax a little because at least another video is done, another one where he didn’t make a complete mess of Thomas’ life or finally pushed them too far so that they demanded once and for all he be vanquished. Virgil has no doubt that if the three of them worked together they would be able to lock him in some corner of the mind that he could never escape from, somewhere small and alone, somewhere he cannot go. He’s managed to climb another mountain and even gained a little corner of the mind palace for himself, another little spot of Thomas’ mind that he can claim and use to hold himself in place just a little longer. 

Now though, Virgil really needs to rest. But first;

“Happy birthday,” he mumbles, vanishing back into the mind before he can hear any answer, regret crowding his mind and no, no, what was he thinking? As though Thomas would want well wishes from his _anxiety_ , what a ludicrous concept. Virgil blocks out the connection as he sits in his room, not wanting to hear or see the moment when Thomas shudders in fear again at Virgil paying him attention.

Not seeing it makes it worse of course, because now he can’t help but imagine it, his mind spinning increasingly detailed and horrible situations, running along at a mad pace until he is imagining Thomas ranting about how disgusting Anxiety is while Patton nods in approval and sympathy. No. No, that didn’t happen. He might not know for sure what did, but he knows that, was not it. Logan’s voice floats in his mind, a stern admonishment that he is thinking things are worse than they actually are. Probably. Maybe. 

He’s had more than enough social interaction for one day, so of course Patton calls them all back to the mind palace for a game of Patton cake. He can’t even muster up the energy to listen to him, let alone do whatever it is that he wants to do. The whole situation has been incredibly draining for him, and Virgil has a lot of thinking to do.

Saying no to Patton is as impossible as ever, especially with him that excited at having finally found the right time to tell Thomas his name. They all have shared their names now, have opened up to Thomas and Virgil knows that the questions about his own are just going to take on a more steady pace. Each one is going to be like a body blow against him, but he won’t share his name, he won’t let himself be hurt like that. 

He is never telling them who he really is. 

\--

Another day, another video. He has taken a mild headache from Patton before they start recording, one that he knows the father side could probably handle on his own, but one he can't risk leaving in case it grows into something worse, something that causes real pain instead of just a vague discomfort. Sleep probably wouldn’t approve but then Sleep has spent another night at a concert instead of doing his job so really? Sleep can bite him. 

He’s a little worked up before they even start recording, jumping at the slightest little thing, on edge by a series of events that on their own might be cause for celebration and low key nerves, but all together builds up to something much, much worse.

Thomas is just too busy. Too much stuff going on in his life right now and while there is the fear of a possible burn out, that isn’t what fills Virgil’s mind with muted horror. He is so busy looking forward, looking to all the things he has yet to do, proving himself and Patton’s worth in every new challenge and experience. He lets Roman’s creativity burst out, lets himself learn new things to excite Logan, all the good stuff that he should be doing.

It’s all just _too much._

Why do they have to keep going on and on, each new visage opening up to new heights for them to climb, new goals to conquer. Every time he pushes through his own fears and thinks at least they can rest this time, they always find new things to do without ever returning to the old. He can't remember the last time they spent a weekend just hanging out with Thomas’ friends and frankly, it is getting to him.

Virgil wants them to get off the ride, just for a little while. Let the seat spin past them for two, three rotations, just so Thomas can catch his breath and Virgil can convince himself to relax, to let his fingers ease up, so he isn't hanging on for dear life.

Yet again, he is cast in the role of villain.

Simply for wanting to stay here, to stay _safe_. To not have to be on alert every single second of every single day and it wouldn't be so bad if the others helped but that's not their job. It isn't up to them to protect Thomas, that's him, that is all on him but he is just so tired of it, tired of running after them all of having to fight his corner every single moment of his existence. Virgil wants to cry, he wants to scream. He wants to stamp his feet and jump up and down but that has never worked in the past. His own terrors never make any impression on them, he has to push that fear, make them all afraid.

Virgil feels tired, almost too tired. He doesn't really want to have to make Thomas terrified, haunted by all the possibilities of the ‘could happen’, all the thoughts that normally torment Virgil. It would be easier if he could just talk about his fears, if he could voice how he feels and let Logan show him where he is going wrong or have Patton feed him cookies or Roman distract him with some outlandish story until Virgil forgets why he was so upset in the first place - but those are dreams he has never dreamt. Impossible moments that burst like brilliant bubbles against his skin before vanishing into the ether.

Roman doesn’t like him and has no problem with saying it. It doesn’t seem to... hurt as much as every other time. Virgil can still feel that pain, the gut punch that could so easily knock the air of his lungs if he let it but at the same time it feels distant somehow. As if there is a tiny, invisible pane of glass between himself and the emotion, thin enough that he can see it, hear it, but thick enough it doesn't touch him.

They ignore his increasingly desperate pleading to end this whole thing, Thomas shifting him against his will into the shape of Talyn. This isn’t who he is and while they can shapeshift into any form they might desire, Virgil had never even tried to be anyone other than he is. What is the point when no amount of disguise can change his rotten core? 

The rest continue the whole thing as though it is a game, as if it isn’t disorientating and terrifying to suddenly be a completely different person. Still the same on the inside but on the outside limbs are suddenly too big or two small. Hair is long when it should be short, voice shifts into tones he cannot control and it is like puberty all over again. 

This has to just stop. It makes him feel awful, each change making his stomach drop out from his body, and he can’t change back on his own. Maybe it is the lack of practise he has when it comes to shapeshifting or maybe it is simply proof of what he is, how different he is to the rest. He is trapped in a skin that isn’t his own, clawing against a cage of their making. Is this what it will feel like when they finally grow tired of him and banish him back into the dark? 

Eventually, Thomas reaches the same conclusion that Virgil has been yelling about the whole time, that these costumes they are being draped in, masks that are being forced on them, are not what he really wants or needs. But Virgil can't lie. Seeing Thomas’ friends, even in such a false way, still manages to settle him a little. Because it looks like Joan, and if he pretends hard enough, he could just about convince himself it is Joan. At least for a second. It isn’t enough to properly calm him but hopefully now, once they finish, Thomas will go and spend some time with his real friends.

Again, Thomas asks him for his name. Again, Virgil slips out of the question, turning it into a joke this time, one that he uses as another opportunity to passively aggressively throw some shade against those who had thought nothing of changing him. As they no doubt wished they could do all the time, change him into something harmless. Something or someone that they can ignore without him kicking them roughly back.

The pain of his host asking something he selfishly thinks he should already know if offset by the apparent honesty of him claiming to be glad Virgil is back to his old self. It’s a moment that hangs in the balance, Virgil teetering on the edge, unsure of what he is supposed to think or feel, caught somewhere between happy and sad.

Until Patton, sweet Patton, kind Patton, ignores his wishes too, shifts his form against his will. In the final reckoning, even Dad lets him down, Virgil feeling a great shudder run through him.

The pain cracks around him, a mirror shattering into thousands of flecks of light, a light dusting that falls onto hair and shoulders, covering him without letting him feel it, a gasp of air and he is floating in near darkness, going through the expected motions on autopilot.

He screams ‘not again’, as they no doubt expect, but his heart isn't in it.

\--

Virgil lies flat on his back, hugging the cat pillow tightly against his chest as he stares upwards towards his ceiling, a frustrated look on his face. He doesn’t understand why he is feeling the way that he is. 

It’s not a panic attack, not really. It isn’t even the build up to one, at least not one that he is used to. There are elements at play, bits that he would normally think were his body’s way of telling him something bad is coming, but Virgil knows his fears and he knows it isn’t as simple as that. He doesn’t feel right and no matter how much Thomas might hate it, being vague is just part of who he is sometimes. He hates it too right now, because the something is circling his mind, close enough to distract him but far enough away that he can’t pin any kind of label on it. Is he suffering from anxiety? About something, anything? Virgl would rather he was feeling anxious about some uncertain thing rather than the sinking knowledge that this isn't the start of a panic attack.

His chest feels a little tight, as though he can’t quite get the air in that he actually needs no matter how many deep breaths he forces himself to take, but at the same time he doesn’t feel... he doesn’t feel worked up, he doesn’t feel upset or scared or even angry.

Virgil doesn’t really feel much of anything.

He tries to remember how he felt when everyone had kept changing him against his will, tried to dredge up that agony, along with the stinging betrayal when even Patton ignored his wishes because what was Virgil’s clear and consistent view on being changed against his will, weighed against the chance of making a pun?

The emotion spits and fizzles out of life in front of him, fingers closing around nothing at all.

Everything inside of him is just _empty_. Is that normal? It doesn’t feel normal. It doesn't feel like his usual brand of normal but maybe this is how people feel when they aren't constantly beset by negative emotions. Maybe he's getting better.

Maybe not.

Virgil makes a noise of frustration and rolls over onto his side, curling up into a ball to bury his face into the pillow he is still hugging tightly. He doesn’t like feeling like this. It’s hard to dislike an absence of feelings, Virgil left feeling like a bundle of nerves and worry, without any of those actual emotions. He is just... frustrated. And he doesn't know how to make it stop, how to kickstart his brain into giving him any kind of real reaction.

Next time.

Next time he is going to do better. Next time he is going to try and actually interact with them properly, he’s going to make an effort to listen to them because they might listen back. Maybe if he can get some positive feelings going in his mind then he will be able to hold them for longer than a few minutes. Maybe if he tries to be less like... himself then they will listen and he can create some kind of connection.

Thomas has been thinking a lot about cartoons lately. 

Well, he always thinks about cartoons, but even by his hosts standards, he has been thinking about them a _lot_. Maybe it means his next video will be on them? It would be good if that is what happens because Virgil likes cartoons, likes escaping into those worlds where anything is possible and he gets to pretend to be something other than he is.

Virgil closes his eyes and wishes with all his might that the next video be relatively harmless and about cartoons.

Really, by now he should have learnt to be careful what he wishes for.


	18. Dead girl walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is it, isn't it.
> 
> He is _done._ ”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil ducks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow these last three chapters have come out super fast haven't they. It's my birthday at the weekend and I wanted to reach this point before then. I'm going away for a little holiday so there will be a bit of a longer wait than normal for the next part, I'm really sorry.
> 
>  **CHAPTER WARNING:** Please, please, please, even if you never read my notes, read this one. This is a dark and heavy chapter. Virgil is suffering from a particularly bad depressive episode for the entirety of this chapter. There are lucid thoughts, dissociation, suicidal like thoughts, intrusive thoughts, massive negativity and distortion of people’s words and actions, general all round bad depression. Our boy is in a super super dark place and if these things affect you, I will understand if you give this a skip. I promise next chapter is going to be better. 
> 
> If you’re still here, welcome! To the hell that is the start of the ducking out arc. Video covered in this chapter is _Becoming a Cartoon_ , which I’ve always considered the start of the accepting anxiety storyline for real. 
> 
> Both the chapter title and the lyrics used in this chapter are from _Dead Girl Walking_ from the amazing musical **Heathers**. If you’ve not listened, go do that right now. It might help with a certain scene and really, it's just a brilliant song from a brilliant musical so you should be listening anyway. 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at @theeternalspace and as always, comments and kudos feed my soul!
> 
> I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.

****

### **Dead girl walking**

**  
**

His eyes are dry.

Virgil can’t remember the last time he has cried and he supposes he should be grateful for that. It’s been so long since he has felt the swell of any emotion, good or bad. So long since the last time he cried over his failure to belong anywhere. He could - he should - slink back to the Dark Sides, vanish back into those rooms and only come out when needed. That doesn’t seem banishment enough. It won’t help Thomas if he does that, and even like this, his main concern is wanting to help Thomas. He can’t in this state. Virgil doesn’t think he can help him ever again.

He sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the wall without seeing anything at all. Somewhere, behind of him, his forever moving clock ticks it’s way through each hour, spinning too fast to any actual sound to come out of it. He knows the rest don’t understand the purpose of the clock, Logan especially. The one time he poked his head around the door to ask Virgil a question, and his eyes kept drifting to the clock. It isn’t logical or literal. It’s figurative and really, he hates - or hated - it too, hates how it would always move so fast and never give him the correct time. But then again, it's not a clock designed to do that. It’s not a clock that tells you the moment of the day, but measures the movement of time as a whole. 

It’s another unsettling part of his room, the reminder that time is short, that it is slipping by too fast for them ever to regain. That had scared Virgil, once upon a time. 

The passage of time.

Virgil measures it in moments, of waking heartbeats when he is aware of anything other than his own breathing and how strange it sounds in the stillness of his room. He comes back to himself in between gasps to find his fingers have gone numb from how tightly they are curled around his mattress, or how sore his throat might feel, rubbed raw by screams he doesn't recall making. Sometimes there is blood under his fingernails, skin red but strangely painless, the evidence flicked away in a single click. 

In those moments between the dark, the blink, he tends to his self care in an almost mechanical fashion, uncurling his fingers or taking a couple of small sips of water to try and soothe his throat, before he is lost back into the void. He exists instead of living and if anyone notices, nobody comes to check on him. Thomas doesn’t call him, doesn’t need him and Virgil supposes that is a good thing. It’s also proof of how unimportant he really is, that he can lose himself for what could have been hours or weeks without causing any effect. 

If he thinks of anything in those brief moments of lucidity, it will sooner or later twist back to cartoons, to the last video he took part in. The last video. 

Even in a cartoon, in a world where any of them could be anything, where they could do anything... Thomas still casts him as the villian. Virgil’s one chance to be something more than himself, to be something better and all Thomas sees when he looks at him is the person to overcome. The person to inflict unnecessary violence on. 

His one power had been flight, the one thing he said he outright hated. 

The cartoon video made it all so clear. There was no place for someone as dark and as disgusting as Anxiety, no place in the warm for someone who lacked a heart or the capacity to do good. It had been a joke at the time, in the mind palace, a throwaway line to maintain his dark persona. Small dark and empty. Like the cavity where his heart would be.

If he had one. 

Virgil absently lifts a hand to his chest, pressing against it as though he could somehow feel a heartbeat under his fingers. Does he have a heartbeat? A heart? He’s the mental projection of an aspect of Thomas’ personality. He’s not a person in his own right. He isn’t real. More than that, he isn’t needed. 

This is it, isn't it.

He is _done_. 

Virgil has tried his best, has fought for all these years and now, finally, it is over. He is over and it is time for someone else to pick up where he will leave off. Selfish of him no doubt, to abandon Thomas but there is nothing more he can do for his host, nothing else he can say or try that will make them listen to him and realise he isn’t the antagonist, that it isn’t fair it is one rule for him but the others can be as negative as they like. No, it is fair. Because they aren’t harming Thomas and he - he thinks he might be. 

He thinks he is ready for it all to stop. He will sink into the Subconscious, drift into the lowest possible areas of Thomas’ mind, he will let the eddys and flows of the currents that swirl there rip him apart until there is nothing left that is ‘Virgil’. No memories, no thoughts and certainly no feelings - well, he lost those already, before he made this choice. It is fitting somehow, that for all his emotional instability, he makes this final choice, this final gift to Thomas, without any emotion to cloud his judgement. He is going to duck out.

Not that he is going to leave just yet.

At least, not until he has said goodbye to everyone he loves. They might not feel the same way about him, but he still loves them. He is selfish, he has known that for a while and so they will have to put up with his presence for a little longer while he finds a way to say his farewells. 

Idly, Virgil gives a little nod. It feels good to have a plan, a steady series of steps he needs to take before his final rest. He will see each of them, one at a time, say his goodbyes in his own way and then not think of them again, not bother them again as he ducks out and never sees anything else. Before, the thought of not seeing Thomas ever again would have kept him firmly anchored in the mind no matter his personal mental state. Now, he just feels as though he is holding Thomas back, doing more harm than good by being here. He is hurting Thomas and that is the one thing he had sworn he would never do. 

He’s not going to miss being Virgil, he will just miss them. The Light Sides. Thomas. The same people that will no doubt be thrilled there is no more anxiety, no more terror getting in the way and Thomas can finally reach his goals. They aren’t going to miss him. They aren’t going to care. That should shatter him further, should rip him into tiny little pieces. It simply stings. A little.

But he doesn’t cry.

Virgil doesn’t think he can anymore. 

\--

It’s been a number of breakfasts since he last left his room. Virgil doesn’t know how many, couldn’t even guess if someone asked. Nobody will. Patton will bleat on about wanting to give him space but Virgil knows now it is because he doesn’t really care. Virgil isn’t his son, not like the other two are and he just doesn’t have the time or energy to look after him, just as he had said all those years ago. It means he doesn’t need to come up with an excuse or lie at least. 

Patton is first on his list because just after breakfast is when he is going to do it. Something inside of him has to be aware of time, something he cannot label because he drifts out of his daze in the early hours of the morning and somehow manages to stay in the moment. A little too in the moment, every second stretching out as though he is a fly in amber and Virgil almost prefers the previous rush and blank of time lurching to a stop before galloping away again. 

Finally though, he hears Patton leave his room and head downstairs to begin preparing for the day. Virgil waits a few more endlessly long minutes before following suit. He all but glides along the corridor without a sound as he moves. It feels as though he is floating instead of walking, Virgil tilting his head down to watch his legs as they move, each footstep counted. Those are his legs, and those are his feet and yet none of this seems real. Blinks are slow, the curtain dropping on an adequate performance and only reluctantly rising once more for the slow round of applause. Nothing seems real, maybe he is dreaming again. Virgil lifts a hand to his arm, pinching the skin hard as he walks. It grows red under his touch, two tiny half moons pressed into his skin from where his nails had dug deep, but there is no pain. 

Perhaps his whole life is a fever dream and he is finally waking up. 

Fingers catch at the smooth wood of the banister as he descends the stairs, able to note the cool feeling, the way he really is gliding over it. Virgil breathes out, watching his hand as it dances, fingers moving of their own accord. Patton is bending over the table when he softly pads into the room, oblivious to his presence.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil said quietly. Even his own voice sounds strange to his ears, distant and distorted as if he is hearing it through some kind of amplifier. “Do you need a hand?”

Patton jumps at his voice, spinning on his heel to look at him. For a moment, Virgil can read every thought in his mind, the shock, the surprise and the worr- the horror. What else could it have been but horror, disgust at being cornered alone in a room with Anxiety. Horror at his appearance, and Virgil has always know he provoked such negative reactions, he doesn’t need to see it again. After an agonizing long second when all was pain, the emotions are washed away by a cheerful smile, Patton even giving a little giggle of pleasure. 

“Anxiety! Oh, of course you can kiddo, why don’t you get the plates and set the table?” His words come out more like a question, as though he thinks Virgil might not want to do it - or perhaps he feels as though he might not know how to do it. 

“Sure,” Virgil agrees softly. It’s a simple enough task and really he would have done a lot more for Patton if asked. The moral side gives him a bright grin at his agreeing, as though Virgil has somehow climbed a giant mountain in agreeing to help.

His returned smile is brittle, home spun glass. 

Virgil feels it cracking as he turns away, hunching down a little into himself as the emotion fragments into the nothing that is Anxiety, leaving a blank expression in its place as he silently collects the plates and cutlery, making the table carefully. 

He doesn’t say anything during breakfast. That, thankfully, is pretty much normal and nobody seems to really pick up on it. Virgil spends the time watching the three of them for as long as he dares without making his staring too obvious, picking at the food on his plate as he does. He is sure he must eat something because there is less food on it by the end but he can’t recall any of it.

What he does remember, is this;

The hand gestures with everything Roman says, the way they seem to weave a story all of their own, something almost enchanting in the dance. They flash with a fire all of their own, an energy that could have burnt Virgil once upon a time. Now, if he touched, he would only feel the cold. 

The tiniest little smirk that curled up on the edges of Logan’s lips, the way he enjoyed these moments, the simply joy that could be gathered from them. It wasn’t necessary logical or clinical, and Logan would act as though the smile was not there - denial isn’t logical either but he swims in it as deeply as the rest. If Virgil was feeling cruel, he could have pointed out that smile, but he would rather remember Logan like this, for as short a time as he has left. 

Patton’s eyes staring at him whenever he thinks Virgil isn’t looking, false concern swimming in them. Otherwise he is as cheery as ever, telling some story about a dog Thomas saw yesterday and how it came over to talk to him. How cute it was, Patton gushing and nobody else around the table having the heart - or energy - to tell Patton that they had all been there in some way too. Virgil doesn’t recall seeing the dog. Another good moment he has missed. 

He wishes this could be enough for him.

He wishes he wasn’t selfish and greedy and wrong in every little way that he would demand more than the feast he had recently been granted. 

He _wishes_ -

The breakfast is over before he can finish his thought, the jumbled idea falling and dying half formed in his mind, Virgil looking up to find that Logan and Roman have already left. Exit stage left. Pursued by a bear. He feels a laugh bubble up in him, something utterly without humour, the kind that would burst out in uncontrollable gales, something that might never stop. He swallows it back down, the laughter cutting his throat to shreds as it goes. Fingers tremble a little as he reaches out for his drink, sipping it slowly to give his mind time to come back together. 

“Thanks for this Patton,” Virgil tells him at last. He means more than just this one breakfast, he means every breakfast that has come before.

He means;

_Thank you for pretending to love me, because it was real to me and the closest I’m ever going to get. Thank you for letting me learn what love felt like. Thank you for letting the clockwork anxiety feel something other than misery, if only for a little while and now the cogs are winding down._

Virgil needs to be careful though. If there is anyone who might work out his plan, it would be Morality. It’s hard because so much of Patton is emotion and he feels other people’s so easily. He might notice Virgil has none and while he wouldn’t care for him, he would still ask, because that was the kind of person Patton was. 

“Oh you don’t need to thank me! I like doing this sort of thing for you all.” 

Virgil almost feels a flutter of warmth in his chest at the ‘all’. He looks down at his plate instead, watching as the yolk of his half eaten egg slowly oozes along the edge of the other food, the way it was sickly bright yellow. It makes him feel a little sick as well. Or maybe it’s just the scream trying to come back out again.

“I know. Just.... thanks. Dad.” There must be something in his voice that betrays him, Patton pausing in the action of stacking the dirty plates properly in the sink, turning to face him. 

“Kiddo? Are you... okay?” He moves closer as he asks, Virgil squirming a little in his seat but he looks up into his face - a mistake. Patton is staring at him with concern bleeding out of his eyes, and Virgil thinks he can see the whole world burning to an end in those eyes. They are timeless, endless and he almost wants to spill all his secrets because of those eyes, unable to look away from them.

“You seem....” he trails off, groping in his mind for some word that might sum up the mess that is Anxiety in front of him. It’s enough to break the spell that is bending Virgil, letting him retreat away from the warmth, the other side abruptly standing up and pulling away from the table, putting physical as well as mental distance between them. 

“I’m fine.”

He’s never been less fine.

Virgil smiles again, feeling the skin stretched so thin, almost breaking over his cheekbones. It is as though it might tear like old paper, as if he could hold himself up to the light and you could see right through him, all the way down to his rotten core. He is weightless, rudderless, ready to float away the moment someone blows on him and scatter into dust.

Patton doesn’t look convinced by his words, or his smile. Virgil doesn’t blame him, he isn’t stupid, just sunny. Of course he knows there is something wrong but - and this was the important part. Patton would never force, would never pry because it wasn’t his nature. Not when things were going well and he could pretend everything was normal. Virgil lifts two fingers up in a salute of farewell before turning brisky and leaving the kitchen, his plate abandoned and forlorn on the table. 

Patton lets him go. Of course he does. 

\--

With Logan, he needs to adopt a different tactic. Emotions are not the logical sides strongest spot which is a relief as it means he doesn’t need to try and fake them as he did with Patton. But it also means he would be more alert to the possibility of them and could suspect something else was going on rather than just Virgil wanting to spend time with him. He would look for an underlying reason for it all and might not stop digging until he found something.

He isn't really sure how he is going to speak to Logan. Thoughts are falling debris from space, burning up in the atmosphere that is his mind, leaving streaks of light but nothing much else.

The answer hasn’t come to him by the time he shuffles down stairs in the middle of the night, caught in one of his brief windows of semi lucidity and needing some fresh water as a result. 

A large black shape rests against the window, some strange blob that was not there the last time he was in this room - possibly. Virgil pauses at the bottom of the stairs to stare at it slowly, turning it over in his mind to try and decide if it is a threat. He still needs to protect Thomas from everything, it is still his job but he doesn’t know if this counts. He doesn’t know how to work out, if it counts. 

“Salutations Anxiety.” Logan’s voice floats out of the darkness towards him, the light flicking on just after, flooding the room with harsh brightness, the kind that drives away shadows with a hiss, forcing all the dark things back under sofas and chairs, there to lurk until the unwary soul plunges the room back into the black. 

Now that he can see properly, the shape shifts into two. Logan standing and next to him - a large telescope, pointed towards the window.

Virgil would probably ask Logan questions. He would want to know if it was safe, if nothing else. Secretly, he would be curious and fascinated by the device and by Logan’s interests and would always be hungry for more. Right now, he just wonders how long it is going to take him to get back to the isolation and safety of his room. He doesn’t care what Logan is doing. But the Virgil he had once been would still ask, and this is the perfect chance to speak with Logan one last time. Heaven sent, almost.

“What are you doing?” He asks at last, taking half a step towards him. Logan straightens his tie a little, almost puffing himself up. He's like a bird, ruffling his feathers in order to impress or overawe this trespasser into his territory. He needs to strut his stuff, prove his superiority, how smart he is, how much better he is. Not that it is hard, to be better than Virgil. It's easy to let him have this victory, such a little thing and it isn’t as though Virgil cares enough anymore to try and prove he could be worthy. 

“I was about to stargaze. Since nobody was awake, I believed I could examine the sky in peace without any interruptions,” Logan tells him, Virgil giving an absent little nod. Of course he wouldn’t be wanted, that was Anxiety all over, always in the place where he shouldn’t be. He still needs to get that water, eyes sliding away from Logan in order to look at the kitchen, wondering what to say now. Virgil hasn’t planned his conversation with Logan yet and he doesn’t like this disconnect, the dial tone stretching between them, a single note to end his existence on. 

“Would you... like to look?”

The question is turned over in his mind, words pulled apart with nimble fingers as he examines it, searches for the flaw, the reason behind it. Virgil already knows that he isn’t wanted here, and Logan certainly looks less than comfortable at having to ask, proof, no doubt, that Virgil had lingered here too long. Listening to the last sounds of their relationship echo away to nothingness in the room. 

Logan is just being courteous. It would be illogical to be rude this late at night, when Virgil has the potential to kick up a fuss just to be spiteful, when he could ruin the peaceful time Logan has planned. Far better and easier to just let Virgil look for a couple of minutes and then shoo him away so Logan can have the rest of the night to himself. Head tilts a little to the side, and for a second, he wonders if it might just roll right off. 

“Sure.” Virgil mumbles, moving properly towards him. With a snap of his fingers, Logan removes the window, letting the night air come in and making sure there was no obstruction to get in the way of the telescope. Past virgil might have complained about that. Worried about the structural integrity of both the house and Thomas’ mind, what kind of effect removing such a large window could have on them both. 

Right now however, he merely bends down, feeling the light breeze ruffling his hair as he looks through the eyepiece. It burns his skin and suddenly Virgil finds himself longing for the ice of before, when he could have plunged his hand in a fire and not felt a thing. It is no less than he deserves however, to burn away, Virgil gritting his teeth and pushing through it. He just has to hope that he won’t become complete ash until he has had a chance to finish his goodbyes. He will fight just a little longer.

The stars are breathtaking as he gazes upon them. Countless specks of light scrolling across the cosmos and here on the edge of it all, is Virgil, peering up into something that has existed long before he ever came into being and will burn for thousands of years after he is gone - or else some of these stars are already dead but the echo of their light stretches on far beyond their actual existence. They will all leave legacies behind them, unlike himself.

It almost comforts Virgil. The universe is so vast, so impossibly vast. And he is so tiny, so unimportant weighed against that spiraling set of galaxies that is moving on without any idea that he so much as exists. 

Everything they do is meaningless. Anything he could chose to do is equally so. It won’t matter when he leaves because nobody would miss him. The world would continue to turn with its chilling, remoteness, not even skipping a beat at his absence. The stars would shine just as brightly that night as any night that had gone before. 

“What am I looking at?” He asks after a moment of staring at the dots. Virgil figures he should ask something, and this question gives Logan a chance to do what he does best; talk about something. Even better, something he is interested in, Virgil stepping to the side and letting the logical side move past him. Logan bends over to look through the telescope himself, examining the view for a couple of moments. 

“Ah yes, the constellation Cassiopeia.” 

“Tell me about it.” His words come out more as a statement or a demand rather than a question, Virgil feeling his energy flag slightly, the facade he is trying so hard to maintain feeling so heavy on his shoulders. Thankfully, Logan doesn’t seem to even notice the way he spoke, his expression brightening at the thought of sharing his knowledge. He straightens up once more, hands behind his back, slipping into full lecture mode. 

Slowly, Virgil slides down to the ground, leaning his head against the arm of the sofa, and lets Logan’s voice wash over him, a soothing balm to the heat that has burst out across his skin, washing away the hotness, the life that had wanted to press itself back into his dying cells and make him feel the pain of every rejection that is still to come, every rejection that makes up his miserable life. Virgil can’t have that. 

So he lets Logan take it away again, listens to the comforting rise and fall of his voice, waves on the shore of his consciousness. 

If this is their last conversation, then there are far worse ways to say goodbye.

\--

Roman is the strangest.

It isn't as though they are friends and out of everyone, Virgil is sure Roman is the one who will celebrate that they have finally vanquished the villain. Virgil wonders if there will be cake in the party Roman will want to throw.

Something in him still compels him to say a secret goodbye, because... well, Virgil doesn't really know exactly why. He has given up trying to understand his own thoughts, they buffet him against the rocks with no care for the damage they do. Speaking to Roman will only cause some more damage somehow, although right now, Virgil can’t really begin to guess what could be worse than his current state. He’s leaving and very soon so really, what more could Roman do to him? 

Virgil slips into the Imagination via his own entrance, wandering through the area without any destination in mind. Each step is a silent farewell of sorts, walking paths that he never will again, passing by familiar landscapes in the world that he created to aid himself or Thomas. Virgil doesn’t know what will happen to these places without him here, if they will remain as mute testimony to the crime that was his existence or if it will crumble into dust without him. Honestly, he doesn’t know which would be worse. 

The forest he finds himself in has always been his favorite part of his world, crafted to resemble the trees in The Nightmare before Christmas. Bare, barren but with the potential to be more, to burst into Christmas Trees if only Virgil opened his heart to the possibility of more. And then, no doubt, to burst into flames like Sally’s vision. To burn forever. He pulls his black hoodie tighter around his thin frame as he walks, arms crossed over his body in an unconscious echo of Jack. 

Virgil might be leaving this place behind, but he won’t burn it to the ground on purpose as he goes. He isn’t _that_ selfish, no matter how close he hovers to it. So it remains as frozen and as barren as ever, no doubt looked upon with disgust because at first glance it seems so empty. Whatever. He keeps walking, following the path in the sure knowledge that it will take him where he needs to go. 

Sooner or later, the path will lead him to Roman, to the center of this world. It always does. Gradually, leaves start to appear on the trees, green growing buds littering the branches as the winter of Virgil’s corner of the Imagination shifts into the spring of Roman’s. Birds start to sing songs he assumes are sweet but just sound high pitched and awful to Virgil, his pace picking up as he passes under the trees they are bunched upon. Beady black eyes stare at him as he goes, watching him move through a land that isn’t his own. 

He hears Roman, before he sees him. 

A voice, floating through the winding path, each note pitched perfect. He’s like a Siren, and Virgil has no choice but to follow, letting the rules of this world dictate his actions. It doesn’t take him long to find the other Side. 

Roman is standing in a clearing, a slight hollow creating a natural stage for him to perform on. He has his back to the path Virgil quietly emerges on, his hands extended as he sings his heart out. It takes Virgil a couple of seconds to place the song, a small, unamused smile on his face at the dark choice of song, simply watching the sun made flesh sing his heart out. A literal God upon the stage. 

_“I could change my name and ride up to Seattle_

_But I don’t own a motorbike_

_Wait - here’s an option that I like:_

_Spend these thirty hours gettin’ freaky!”_

Roman spins as he holds the final note of the word, breaking off at the sight of Virgil still lurking on the edge of the clearing. 

“What are you doing here?” His tone is as unfriendly as ever and briefly Virgil wonders how he has managed to survive for so long with such ice tossed his direction on a near daily basis, how he’s been able to scrape together even a morsel of heat from him.

“Walking,” Virgil replies, voice soft. He recognizes the joke in his answer, although he doubts Roman does. “I heard singing. It was... good.”

It was as though some other part of Thomas knew his intentions and had fed them in some fashion to Roman, to inspire him to sing that song. Unless Roman knows only too well what Virgil is planning and is using this final moment to try and hurt him further. He can’t know that nothing hurts Virgil anymore, that he has become more - or less - than his feelings. Why else would Roman pick such a perfect song to sing in this moment of all moments? 

Dead boy walking. 

Roman actually looks taken aback by the compliment for a moment, surprise covering his features before it shifts into suspicion, as if he is searching for the sting in the words.

Virgil is the scorpion. At least in most encounters. He is Maleficent, Hades, Scar. He is every dark thought and wicked deed. But he is also done. There are no hidden meanings here, no layers to scrape away. Virgil couldn’t lie to Roman. Not now. Not in this moment. He also doesn’t want to fight him. Roman might celebrate when he realises Anxiety is gone, but some small part of him wants the creative side to have _one_ good memory with him, one moment if he ever looks back and realises maybe not every encounter was terrible. Not that he would look back.

“Really?”

Is it his imagination, boosted by this place, or does Roman sound almost insecure, unsure? As if he wants to believe the words but somehow can’t. As though it actually matters what Virgil might say or think. Roman has always needed validation of course, but while he might accept it from Anxiety just because he is there, Virgil has never heard him sound so... small before. 

“Really.” Virgil assures him after the pause stretches on just a little too long and he realises it is is turn to speak. He can’t remember how conversations are supposed to go anymore, he is out of practise but from the way Roman is looking at him, it seems as though more is required. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Or did he? He had been looking for him after all, had been searching for some kind of way to speak to him, to find a way to say goodbye to all the fighting and all the misunderstands scattered between them, broken pieces of glass that would cut them both if they tried to mend it at all. Better to simply accept what cannot be changed, to realise this is as good as a goodbye as he was going to get rather than push for any more. 

He got to see a little snippet of Roman doing what he did best. He got to be blessed with a moment that wasn’t layered with insults. Virgil can feel himself fading, drained by all this time in the Imagination, in a place where anything is possible but it is fueled by your own thoughts and feelings. Virgil has so few of those left, and he feels the Imagination chewing up and spitting out what little is still him, killing him softly. It’s a wonder he isn’t physically vanishing right here and now. 

“I’ll just... I’ll go.” 

“Well, you’re here, you may as well stay, I suppose.” Roman’s words are lacking any hint of grace, but he seems to mean them all the same, pulsing his lips together for a moment before giving a dramatic sigh. 

Virgil feels a thousand little spiders crawling over his skin, tiny legs ticking and pinching. An uncomfortable niggle at those words and he doesn’t want to stay. It’s dangerous being here, dangerous being around Roman because despite everything, Roman is a dagger that he wants to fling himself upon. Roman could cut him open and expose any living bit, Roman has always known how to hurt him or to save him. Save him? Nothing can save him, he is the echo of the once was, the last gasp before the applause. There is nothing to save and nobody to do it. 

He opens his mouth to say no, to refuse this pity wrapped up in kindness. He doesn’t want to watch Roman as he sings and dances around the area, drawing unknowing but mocking attention to the sad state that is the anxious side. 

“Okay,” Virgil hears himself say instead. He blinks a little, unsure of where this inability to say no to Roman has suddenly come from. He is weak to Patton and Logan, it's one of the many reasons he needed to hide his intentions from them so they couldn’t try and stop him. Virgil hadn’t realised the infection had spread to Roman as well. It would be a worry, if this was real. If this moment could be sustained beyond this clearing, he might have had to rethink his plan. But whatever happens, Roman will act as though it didn’t, just as he acts as though every breakfast they have shared together were simply the productive of Virgil’s imagination, mind breaking under the inforced solitary existence he has.

Unless the breakfasts are just that. 

Virgil can’t be sure of anything anymore. Not even the side standing in front of him. He seems real enough but at the same time he is being as close to nice as Roman ever gets with him and that isn’t realistic. Maybe Virgil hasn’t actually left his room today.

If this is a dream, then it is far kinder than the shadows generally give him. It is softer than the ones he remembers, a more gentle reality than he is used to. If he can only say his farewells to a dream, then Virgil will take that, no matter how pathetic that makes him. At least this way he gets to spend some time with some version of the creative side. 

Roman wiggles a little, a gentle little shimmer of hips and shoulders as he slips back into the character of Veronica from Heathers. He starts the song from the start, music floating out from invisible instruments, as though he needs to do one better than before now he has an audience. Virgil can’t help but watch as the somewhat arrogant Prince he knows disappears, his movements and mannerisms shifting so convincingly into a teenage girl caught up in a terrible emotional crisis. 

_“I’m in your yard_

_I’m a dead girl walkin’_

_Before they punch my clock_

_I’m snappin’ off your window lock_

_Got no time to knock_

_I’m a dead girl walking.”_

Roman pauses and turns a little to look at Virgil, an expectant look on his face, almost as though... almost as thou-

“Veronica? What are you doing in my room?” Virgil stumbles over the line a little, stutter half the acting that is part of the stage directions and half because Roman couldn’t have possibly meant for him to join in with the song. He can conjure up the music, it can’t be that much more of a stretch for him to create another voice to say and then sing the few lines that are needed. Heck, he could easily just ignore the lines and sing the Veronica parts himself, but Virgil has already said it now. 

The expected annoyance, a huff or a yell, doesn’t come. Roman grins, bright, letting him know that for once in his life, the anxious side actually made the right choice, before launching into the rest of the song. He spins away from Virgil once more, swaying his hips in time to the song as he dances and acts to an imaginary J.D. Of course he wouldn’t want Virgil to actually join in properly. 

Virgil feels numb around the edges. His skin is still crawling with tiny ant legs he cannot see, and he feels tight around his edges, as though he is suddenly too large for his skin. He speaks without thought, playing the role from the sidelines, even singing when required and yet Virgil feels disconnected to it all, slipping out from the skin that no longer fit. 

It is almost as thought Virgil is in two places at once, one half of him singing the lines as needed and the other stood a few feet away from his body, watching the whole scene play out in front of him. The Roman and Virgil he is watching are like actors, figurines acting out this scene and the Roman actor at least is very good in his role. 

The Virgil... less so. It stands so stiffy, obviously ill at ease, hovering on the edge of the blessed circle, hands shoved roughly into the pockets of its hoodie. It sings when required, slipping into the role but the moment the lines are over it shifts back into the living statue style it seems to have.

Virgil wonders if he would have made a better J.D than this false version of himself. As he watches, he can see the copy grow paler and paler. His eyes widen, the shadows that swirl under them not wholly made from eyeshadow. The black seems to leak, trailing down his cheeks, leaving gashes of darkness in its wake, thick, vertical lines running down his face. His hair lies flat against his skull, a greasy, unwashed look that would not have suited a dead skunk, let alone an aspect of a person. It looks like something out of a bad horror movie and Virgil half expects it to suddenly lunge across the grassy stage and try and attack Roman who is still singing, oblivious to anything else. 

Not that Virgil is going to let that happen. He watches the statue more than Roman, his own dark eyes intently fixed on the monstrosity, ready to at least try and attack if the need calls for it. It doesn’t so much as blink, let alone try and take a single step towards the prince. 

Roman almost screams out the final word of the song, his chest heaving, all of the emotion practically pouring out of him in waves, saturating the area with more colour, more life. Virgil sees himself lift his hands. The sensation of cold skin slapping against cold skin drags himself roughly back into the mannequin that is his form, Virgil blinking rapidly as the world shifted back into a different view point and all of a sudden he is looking through those old eyes once more. He is clapping, celebrating Roman’s performance in the stalls once more. 

Roman beams, spinning round to face him, expression wide and open. He looks so pleased, so happy to have sung and everything went right. Virgil can see the split second it happens. The moment when Roman’s brain catches up to the rest of him, when he realises what had just happened, that while he might have been dancing with himself, he had been singing a duet with Anxiety. A romantic duet no less. He can see the crash displayed across his face, the dawning horror as Roman realises who he has been singing with, who he is looking at. 

“An....Anxiety... what the hell?” Roman’s words come out as a stuttering mess, and there is not even a token effect to disguise the horror writ large on his features, the other side’s face almost as pale as his own normally is. His arm lifts, palm outstretched as though he can somehow create a barrier between them both. 

Virgil takes a stumbling step backwards, twisting himself as he goes and this - this is what he had known would happen. This is the pain that spending time with Roman gets him, a knife so sharp and delicate that it can slide through the nothingness that has surrounded him and find that one little piece of himself that is not yet all black. 

He _feels_ \- 

There is his heart. Cracking one final time, the pieces turning to ash and ice within his chest, finally fragmented beyond repair. His breath catches in his throat, a moment where he feels as though he might burst and everything he wants to say, to scream, bubbles up inside of him, welling up like blood in a freshly created wound. Not a dream then. A dream wouldn’t be able to hurt like this, not in the moment. He breathes out, shoulders shaking, all those emotions rushing out of him with the exhaled air, vicious thoughts staining his vision red before vanishing to the far corners of the Imagination. 

The urge dies. He’s alone again, empty again, standing with his back to Roman in a clearing somewhere in the imagination. The other side hasn’t said anything else, no doubt hoping that Virgil will just back up now, will run away and be vanquished. Well, he is happy to oblige. Virgil had gotten more than what he had come for. 

He’s a dead boy walking and this was his last meal. 

“Goodbye Roman.” It’s whispered so quietly, he doubts the creative facet even hears as Virgil sinks out of the clearing, leaving the Imagination - and Creativity - behind him for good.

\--

The hardest of course, is Thomas.

How can he possibly say goodbye to Thomas? 

His host has been his everything for as long as Virgil has existed, for as long as _Anxiety_ has existed. He might be terrible at showing it, but almost everything he has ever done has been because of Thomas, one way or the other. All to try and keep him safe. Now, the time has come, when Virgil has finally realised what Roman and the rest have been trying to tell him all along - the thing they need to keep Thomas safe from... is him. 

He is the danger, the monster in the dark that you have to be afraid of. Virgil has to protect Thomas, has to keep him safe and that means removing the dangerous elements. Removing himself. It’s for the best.

Time passes, an infinite amount of time as he tries to settle back into his old skin. He scrubs his face more times than he can remember, as if soap and water can wash away the black around his eyes, the rot that is eating away at this form, bit by bit. Time passes until he is sure Roman has been distracted by some new and shiny idea, that he isn’t going to tell the others about his encounter with the freak and so have them bearing down on him. Virgil is alone, safely so. 

It doesn’t help him work out what he is going to do, how he is going to say his farewells. If he pops up unannounced, Virgil runs the very real risk of Thomas summoning one of the others in a frantic attempt to get him to go away. Even if by some miracle, that doesn’t happen, one of the others might find out about it anyway and that would only lead to accusations, to a fight he can’t have. And if, on the slim, slim chance none of that happens, there is still the fact he needs to have a conversation with Thomas that won’t give himself away.

In the end, Virgil takes the cowards way out.

He waits until Thomas is fast asleep.

Only once he is sure that Thomas is deeply asleep and unlikely to wake up anytime soon, does Virgil stir from his bedroom. He slips into the real world with an ease that betrays how often he has done this, settling himself at the bottom of Thomas’ bed, emotionless eyes watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, reassuring him with each breath that his host is still alive. Thomas is strong, he will survive just fine without Virgil, just as they all will. There is a little comfort to be had from that, from knowing that this is the right thing to do and that his Thomas will be a better person without him. 

Virgil will miss this. Assuming, of course, it is possible for him to miss anything, assuming there will be anything left of him capable of thought, capable of missing anyone. 

Eventually, if the need arises, a new Anxiety will form out of the darker places of Thomas’ mind, a new aspect of his personality, tasked with protecting him. Hopefully this one won’t be as broken and as wrong as Virgil. Who knows, maybe with a new Anxiety, the others will actually give that one a chance instead of beating him down at every little suggestion. Whoever this new version ends up being, he knows it will be an improvement on himself.

“I remember the first time we properly met you know, even though you don’t.” Virgil’s voice is soft, gentle in the dimness of the room, not the harsh growl that he would so frequently use when he wanted to talk to Thomas, when he needed to jolt him urgently from his sleep. Virgil doesn’t want to wake him up now, it's easier to say everything that needs to be said because he is unconscious and unaware. He can finally say some of the secrets that have weighed down on what passes for his soul. 

It feels good to speak of that secret night aloud, even if there is nobody awake to hear it. Talking about it helps cement the memory as something that might have actually happened and banish the lingering fear that the whole thing might have been made up by his younger self in a feeble bid to find something good in his life. Virgil leans forward a fraction as Thomas shifts a little in his sleep, watching as he turns and then sighs, sinking deeper into sleep. It’s a much more peaceful scene than the time he was talking about, when Thomas was caught in the vice of his first proper migraine and everything that been agony. 

“You were in so much pain and I was so scared, but I knew that I could do something to help. It was the first time I ever appeared in the real world. The first creak of floorboards and I nearly ran right there and then. But I had Mrs Fluffybottom with me to keep me strong, I thought I had Creativity to back me up and so I pressed on and for the first time I made things... better.” His voice twists a little on the last word, all the self hate seeping out, another reminder of the festering sore that is Virgil Sanders. The idea now of Anxiety being able to make anything better would have made him laugh if it wasn't just so contemptible. 

“I remember how you smiled at me when you saw me, no fear in your eyes, just love and I thought... I thought I could do anything, _be_ anything on the basis of that smile. I thought I could be... _good_. Ha. Anxiety. Good. I should have known better.”

Virgil looked down for a moment, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie and he couldn’t just sit here any longer, couldn’t act relaxed as though this was something casual, something easy. His relationship with Thomas had been many things, but easy was rarely one of them. Unless you counted the times like this, when Thomas was asleep and it was the closest to a friendship with his host that he had ever managed. All it took was making sure one of them was oblivious to what was happening. It is another fake moment in a lifetime filled with them and Virgil is sick of it all, sick of pretending that he has anything more from Thomas but these little moments that are nothing but lies. 

With a soft little grunt, he moved back to his feet, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Those moments when he had taken migraines from Thomas had been some of the happiest moments of his existence, times when he has been helping and the pain was almost welcome since he was the one suffering instead of Thomas. They had been good memories in a sea of drab, depressing ones and that was just depressing in of itself. Thomas is going to have to learn how to handle his own migraines now, and Virgil almost feels sorrow for that, regret that he won’t be around to protect. 

The benefits to not being here, still outweigh that one small thing he can do to help and so he still must leave. Virgil finds himself standing beside Thomas now without any intention to have come closer, staring intently at his face. If he was to wake up, he would be terrified no doubt. Idly, Virgil wonders if this is Sleep’s doing, a pity present, making sure Anxiety can be as creepy as he likes one final time. 

Hand lifts hovering over Thomas’ forehead, over the place he has touched so many times, when he would take away the pain. He has lost count of the number of times he did this in the past, Virgil finding himself bending a little closer, his breath against Thomas’ skin, voice shifting into the lowest possible whisper, so quiet even he could barely hear it.

“But you don’t smile at me anymore and I think that's my fault. I messed up Thomas. I messed up and while I can protect you, thats not enough is it. There is something wrong with me inside. Something that I can’t fix any other way than this. If I leave, you’ll be better, happier. I won’t be holding you back any longer.” 

The energy drained from him as rapidly as it had first appeared, Virgil feeling his shoulder sag, slowly turning back to look at the sleeping form. Thomas is as oblivious as ever, peaceful, unaware of the storms churning in the darker corners of his mind. For the best of course, Virgil doesn’t want him to ever know this happened. This moment is for Virgil, one final selfish act in an endless series of them.

“I hope your new Anxiety can look after you better. I hope... I hope you can be happy now. Happy and safe.” Virgil leaned over Thomas as he spoke, brushing a gentle kiss against his forehead, lingering in the moment for just a little longer.

“I hope you have a great life. Good luck Thomas.”

And finally, just like that, he is done. 

\--

Another night passes in the same grey blur as the ones that come before, Virgil only really aware of it by the way his room lightens as the sun rises. There is no wrong time to duck out. No right time either, no moment that would work one way or the other. 

Briefly, he considers saying goodbye to Deceit. Or to Sleep. 

It’s an excuse of course. Where would he stop if he starts spreading his goodbyes even further? How many more times would he risk someone discovering his plan? And perhaps, if there was still a part of him that wasn't already covered with layer upon layer of bruises, how many more blows he can take? How many times can he say goodbye and not even have them realise that is what he is doing? Still, Virgil is delaying the moment now that it is upon him. He’s a coward at heart, and some part of him doesn’t want to go. 

Virgil knows he has to. Knows he will. 

He sits on the edge of his bed once more, fingers tapping idly against the spine of the Alice in Wonderland puzzle book. Really, he should return this to Logan before he... leaves. But that means moving, it means standing up and walking. If Logan is in his room then it would mean another conversation, one Virgil no longer feels capable of having, he cannot think enough to be able to react to another. His words have run dry.

It is almost time. Virgil is fading, no matter what he does now, his body is turning itself inside out as it starts to try and remove itself from the equation. Even if he were to somehow try and stay, he will just become paler and then darker until he really is a shade haunting the hallways, causing far more harm than good. Roman would have to dispatch him no doubt, treat him like a Nightmare that has somehow escaped the Imagination, force him into the dark. He might retain some semblance of self like that, and the thought shimmers on the edge of his mind, something dark and threatening. 

He doesn’t want to exist any longer. Better to leave on his own terms, to chose to fall into the Subconscious and let himself drift away, rather than run the risk of becoming a monster like that, where he might hurt someone. 

Fingers continue to drum a steady beat against the book, unaware of anything else but the sound. It grounds him in the moment, lets him work through his final thoughts without having to actually focus on them, lets him once again read the choice he already made.

He is _done_. 

Virgil exhales, breath long and deep, a hint of his double echo in the sound as he carefully placed the book beside him on the bed. His fingers twitched, jerking a little this way and that without anything to contain them, needing that little outlet of thoughtless action. 

It’s hard to will them to fish his phone out of his pocket, turning the device over and over instead of actually using it. Slowly, as though with great effort, he flicked his phone on, staring down at the screen. Numbers jump around, vision blurry before they finally focus, the bright light searing into his brain and letting him tell the time. 

“Well how about that... seven fifty-nine am...” There is no humour in his voice as he places the phone back on the bed, the puzzle book instantly replacing it in his hands, needing something there, some weight to keep him in place or he thinks he could float away right now.

Roman comes to mind despite his promise to himself not to think of any of them any longer. Roman with his smile, with his energy as he spun and danced across the stage of his own making, Roman who had let him stay when normally he would have sent him packing, Roman who had actually let him join in, even from the sidelines. Roman, who he was going to miss more than he expected, for however long it took him to duck out completely. Softly, Virgil began to sing, voice almost breathless, a near whisper in the room, his legs swinging loosely backwards and forwards against the bed as he did.

_“The demon queen of high school has decreed it:_

_She says Monday, eight a.m., I will be deleted.”_

The sentiment is somehow too perfect to ignore. Virgil has never been one to believe in fate, in the idea that things happen for a reason - unless its a bad reason of course. Now however, he can’t help but think he might have been wrong in that, just as he had been wrong in pretty much everything else in his life. Why else would it be so close to eight in the morning, at this moment in his life? The screen of his phone is still lit up from where he has dropped it on the bed, Virgil dully watching as it ticks over to the next minute. 

Eight a.m. 

Virgil is no more. 

Deleted. 

Book slips from numb fingers, pages fluttering as it lands lightly on the carpet in front of his bed, its purpose finally completed. His hands lie still now, hanging limply by his side, no need for them to dance any longer. 

Anxiety closes his eyes as he lies on his bed at last, feeling the darkness eagerly swarming in to claim its victim after waiting so long.

For a single breath, he hovers above himself, watching a body that is worn through as the roller coaster that is his life climbs ever higher. Anxiety can hear each shuddering jolt as it works its way up the rickety track, the _tick, tick, tick_ of wheels clicking ever higher, to the summit of the largest hill on the whole circuit. Anxiety feels the ride dip, that heart stopping moment when the roller coaster seats seem to almost hover, suspended in air and in defiance of gravity before it will scream it’s way downwards, all the way into Hell. 

With no reason to do otherwise, Anxiety lets himself fall.


	19. A shortage in the switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For a moment he seems to hang, suspended in the between, watching all his pasts collide with one another. For that moment, he sees them smile, laugh, fight amongst themselves. He watches as though it is a compilation video edited by Thomas or one of the fans, sees how it looks from the outside, watching as he tries to force himself to be inside the charmed circle. It looks even more pathetic from the outside and really, it is a miracle that Thomas hasn’t tried to get rid of him after that first, singular, attempt.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil finds ducking out isn't as easy as he previously thought. That is just the start of a series of revelations for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm sorry about the long wait between updates, first holiday and then this chapter really did not want to be written! Here we are at last though, some long overdue comfort for our favourite anxious side. I really hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Video - sort of - covered in this is **Accepting Anxiety Part One.**
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Just Like a Pill_ by **P!nk**. And without further ado, let's get into it.

****

### **A shortage in the switch**

**  
**

_“Sometimes I just gotta be me...an”_

_“FALSEHOOD!”_

_“Everyone loves the villain.”_

_“Thanks for noticing me.”_

_“Oh, I don't think that's all you do.”_

_“That is not how dreamchasing works!”_

_“I’m actually getting quite into this... bring it on.”_

_“Aww! He’s like a little kitten now!”_

Snatches of past conversations spin around him, flashes of imagery connected to them, so close that Anxiety feels as though he could reach out and grab any one of the moments and he would be thrust back into that moment. It's irrational of him, but some part even believes he could step back in time and somehow grasp the moment, change what he said. As though the scene could play out differently, as if it could end in any other way beyond crushing his feelings further. Something stirs in him, a feeling that Anxiety had thought died long ago, had faded away, been deleted along with everything else, along with his name.

It is hope, a final flickering of a flame that doesn't know when it is beaten. That doesn't know when to quit, despite the rest of Anxiety having long since given up. He doesn’t understand how his battered and ruined heart could still work, could still desire a better outcome than this? It is long past time to stop being selfish, to accept that he will never be accepted, and to do the right thing. He has done the best thing he can for everyone, one final gift and although it will never be appreciated, Anxiety knows it had to be done. Ducking out is the best thing for everyone else - so why does his traitorous little heart dare to think differently? 

For a moment he seems to hang, suspended in the between, watching all his pasts collide with one another. For that moment, he sees them smile, laugh, fight amongst themselves. He watches as though it is a compilation video edited by Thomas or one of the fans, sees how it looks from the outside, watching as he tries to force himself to be inside the charmed circle. It looks even more pathetic from the outside and really, it is a miracle that Thomas hasn’t tried to get rid of him after that first, singular, attempt. Instead, he had let him trundle along, causing pain and annoyance and Anxiety doesn’t want to have to watch this anymore. He doesn’t want to risk doubt creeping in with hope, make him second guess his choice. It has been made and he is just ready for it to be over. 

Why is he still here? He has been falling through the Subconscious for what feels like an eternity now, had given himself up to as close to death as it is possible for a Side to get and yet he is still here, thinking... feeling. If only to a degree. The memories are still crowding him, pressing in and if he needed oxygen it would make it very hard to breathe. It is almost as though they are trying to tell him something although what, beyond his pathetic excuse for a life, they could possibly be trying to tell him, is beyond him.

Perhaps this is how it happens, the final ending, the last act in the tragedy that is Anxiety. His very own memories whipping past him, becoming more and more violent until they are quite literally torn away, until they tear him into pieces. It means he has to relive them, the good along with the bad. Each negative comment, each time he is ignored or has his contributions thrown in his face are somehow easier to handle than the smaller, quieter moments where he had allowed himself to dream of a world where he wasn’t constantly belittled. 

The moment when Roman accepted he had a few good points to make. Logan, when he claims not to mind his company. Patton, being delighted to have made a spot just for Anxiety.

Those memories burn, searing through the cracks in the ice he has clung so desperately to. They slip in like molten lava, threatening to turn his whole being back from the ice of deepest winter to a summer day. They threaten to return his feelings in full, and while he can feel a little right now, it is still strangely detached, as if Anxiety has somehow managed to step out of his own body and away from all the pain. Anxiety is coward enough to not want this frozen moment to pass. He doesn’t want to have to face the enormity of what he has done, the permeance and relive in all its terrible glory, the moments that led him to making this choice.

Perhaps this is the final test, a way for the mind to make sure he really wants to do this, that he is ready to give up, to remove himself and so save Thomas from a lifetime of having to deal with him.

So be it.

With a soft gasp, he feels himself drop again, spinning through the vortex, letting his mind conjure up and drop memories at will. It is easy enough to let the tides and eddys pull him as they desire, confident in the fact that eventually there will be an end for him. Anxiety closes his eyes and surrenders to the snatches of sound that scream past him.

_“I’m not always the bad guy.”_

_“Time... the only thing between them and opposable thumbs.”_

_“They already ruled me out Sir Sing a Lot.”_

_“You... never want me to stick around.”_

_“Did someone say atrocious?”_

Wait.

One of those lines was not like the other. One of those lines just didn't belong.

It's enough to drag him back into the center of the void, for him to find that spot where he can watch all the moments swirl and yet still retain that tiny spark of himself. Whatever it is that is left of himself and he certainly doesn’t feel the same as before. He doesn’t feel whole but then neither does he feel as empty as he had once done. Feelings hover dangerously close, the bane of Logan’s existence. Right now, Anxiety feels as though the logical side certainly has a point and he would do almost anything to avoid them. The logical thing is to throw himself back into the vortex, to let whatever is holding him in place snap before he feels even more - and yet. 

Anxiety wants to know where this mysterious memory has come from. It’s not a moment from a video. It doesn’t even seem to be a moment from one of the sides, because the voice is not theirs. Curiosity sparks in him as much as he tries to ignore it, avoid it. Curiosity only leads to getting hurt, to more pain and despite knowing that, he can't help but want to indulge in it, wants to satisfy his curiosity, no matter what.

It seems as though some part of Virgil remains after all. Anxiety isn’t sure what to make of that. There is little time to wonder about that though, not when he wants to focus on actually solving this mystery. One last little look, one extra moment to try and work out what was going on, just in case it did somehow pose a threat to Thomas and then he could continue to let the Subconscious do its work. Every passing moment he spends here will only speed up the process, there is only so long any Side can remain here without causing harm to themselves. He’s hovered close to that line plenty of times in the past, but he’s never tried to step - or fall - over it before. 

He squints, peering past the endless kaleidoscope of memories that continue to swirl around him, moments that he has dissected so many times in the past. He ignores them now however, trying to find the origin of that strange line.

There. 

Playing against the darkness is a few looping, flickering seconds of cats and that same voice. It’s a voice he knows, although perhaps not personally. A celebrity perhaps? Some show he once watched although it wouldn’t explain why he is remembering it _now_ and why it seems to be of equal importance to his fragmented mind as the memories of when the others interacted with him. 

The others. The main sides. The light sides. The sides that he _loves_ and that has always been the problem with Anxiety. It would have all been so much easier if he had been created right, if he had lacked the capacity to love Thomas and the rest, because his love has only brought him pain. Despite that however, Anxiety finds that he loves them still. 

The ice slips a little, Anxiety drawing in a sharp little half breath as though he has touched the cold for the first time and become aware of how chilled it actually is. With that awareness comes the realization that he is breathing again, his lungs burning harshly as he struggles to draw in enough air to keep breathing, to keep himself going. He moves. With legs he had thought had faded away, staggering towards the flickering images, drawn towards them. 

Anxiety is more than a disembodied thought once more. He has limbs, thoughts, wants. He wants to find out where this has come from, he can feel that old stubbornness stir in him once more, pushing against the ice, the deliberate lack of anything starting to melt at his feet. The cat’s seem to glow at his thoughts, brighter now somehow. Each step feels as though he is walking into a wind tunnel, the vortex wanting to send him hurtling back to the other memories, the moments with Roman and the rest.

Somehow, the desire to keep him away from it, just makes Anxiety want to get closer, growing more stubborn in turn. He grits his teeth and pushed on, another shaking step and another and another until he is almost up against the moment. Fingers tremble as he reaches out, touching the cat as it - does embroidery? Or at, least, he tries to touch the image, but his hand passes through it. It’s light against the black, of course his hand can’t actually touch it because it isn’t real, isn’t actually there. 

An obnoxious laugh echoes through the otherwise dark, empty air, Anxiety flinching a little at the abrupt nature of it. He knows that snort of a laugh, some part of him mentally grouping for the name that hovers out of reach, fingers closing around the dust particles that are lit by the images as though he could somehow find the answer that way. The snort sounds again and he finds himself straining, pushing against the world he has created for himself in a bid to discover the source. The cats all mew, the image looping back to the start, brighter, louder, pressing against the boundaries of the world and he can feel it all tremble, tiny shock waves shooting along the connections. 

This world is ending. And it's ending with cats, which seems strangely appropriate for a world dreamed up - even subconsciously - by Thomas. He has a choice, he realises in that second. To dive back into the memories, the endless spin of thought that buffets him this way and that and the eventual maybe of being torn apart by those same memories. Or he can press forward, can embrace the strange looping not memory and find out who is laughing and why. Anxiety jumps - up and towards the cat. 

_Imagine that... Cats with thumbs._

The warm dulcet tones of the person narrating the clip - an Englishman he noted dimly - fill the space around him, replacing the emptiness with cats before even that fades away and instead;

He wakes up. 

Lazily, Anxiety blinks, staring up a string of fairy lights above his head, his mind refusing to engage properly, to work out where he is now the strange memory room has vanished. The fairy lights seem to sparkle, glittering merrily against the subtle colours of the ceiling, a swirl of forest greens and browns as though the ground had swapped places and is no longer where it should be. After a couple of seconds of just watching them glow, the lights solidify enough for him to make out letters, and another second or two later, he can see words. Dream on. Little stars trail along either side of the words, winding along the length of the string as they sparkle down on him.

The bed he is lying in makes him want to just turn over and go right back to sleep, each fluffed up pillow making him sigh in contentment, almost begging him to just turn over and go back to sleep, to ignore the soft sounds that betray someone else is in the room. Normally, the knowledge that someone is near him, would be enough to make Anxiety tense up, make him lash out before they can say or do anything, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel as wound up or on edge as he normally would, just blissfully lying in what might not even be a bed at all but rather the fluffiest clouds in the world. 

Hands drift lower, absently brushing against the blanket covering him. It’s colder than he expects, smoother and doesn’t feel like a typical throw or cover. Now that he thinks about it, it is a lot shorter too, barely covering his chest, Anxiety’s fingers tracing along what he now realises is the sleeve of a jacket. Adding it all up and even Anxiety cannot fail to notice the obvious conclusion to all of this. 

This is not his room.

Finally, he turns his head a little to the side, where the soft noises are coming from - and is greeted by Sleep, sitting crossed legged on the bed beside him, resting against the large headrest, his whole attention focused on the lit up screen of his phone, stifled little giggles slipping free. Anxiety simply stares, and it feels as though his brain is just white noise, the world reduced to nothing but Sleep and this bed. After a moment, Sleep looks up from his phone, smile increasing at the sight of Anxiety awake. 

“Hey boo,” Sleep said affectionately, as though Anxiety was often in the habit of waking up in his bed. As if this was a perfectly normal thing to have happened. “Come check out this video I found, some advert for milk, it’s pretty funny.” 

A phone is thrust under his nose, Anxiety unable to do anything but stare at it, watching the advert play out and finally he can see what has been apparently Sleep’s obsession for however long he was lying here. Anxiety doesn’t know how many times he had seen it, but it must have easily been dozens, if not hundreds, to have managed to sink into his own mind as he lay there. The advert doesn’t make much more sense now he can watch the whole thing, a theory on why cats purr at the sight of milk and the frankly chilling future it paints of a world where cats evolve to the point they have opposable thumbs. With those, there would be nothing stopping them, and he knows many would welcome heir new feline overlords. That still doesn’t explain why he’s watching it or what this nightmarish world it paints has to do with selling milk. Was it supposed to be; buy the milk out of spite? Or buy the milk because you wanted to hurry along the coming cat apocalypse. 

He really wishes he knew what on earth was going on right now. 

Anxiety glances down at himself and yes, he was covered by a leather jacket. One of apparently a number of identical ones that Sleep has, because he is still wearing his trademark leather. Sleep doesn’t take any offense at the lack of response from Anxiety, merely giving another chuckle and pulling his phone back to his chest.

“Can you imagine? Cats with thumbs? Able to hold things and do things, they would be able to drink Starbucks! I could have a little feline drinking buddy” Sleep gives a delighted little snicker as he spoke, clearly imagining just that. “Patton would go even more crazy I swear.” 

This is a very strange one sided conversation. Anxiety slowly pushes himself up by the hands so he is sitting upright, leather coat pooling around his waist as he moves. Sleep simply watches him as he does, taking the opportunity to pick up the pale green elaborate drink that was on his side table, into his hand and swallow a large mouthful. 

“So, what did you think? Yay or nay on the cats?” Sleep asks after a long pause. Anxiety merely blinks a couple of times and then glances around the room, half checking to see if it is still there and half wondering if he can spot something that might fill in the gaps in his memory and knowledge. The last thing he properly remembers is deciding he is no longer Virgil, no longer that _mean, spiteful disgusting, horrible worse no good pathetic excuse of a Si-_

“Earth to Anxiety... you in there girl?” There is a hint of concern in Sleep’s voice, an undercurrent of worry that cuts through the spiral of self loathing that Anxiety can feel his mind tumbling into and for a moment it feels as if they are having their last conversation all over again. It seems there really is no escape from the more negative parts of his personality. Or rather, it seems as though his personality is nothing but negative. Sleep’s question is still enough to make him take a step back for the moment, eyes lifting to finally meet the function’s cloaked gaze. Not for the first time, he wonders what is really going on behind those eyes of his. 

“I should go,” Anxiety mumbles after a long moment, side stepping around the actual question and the genuine worry because Anxiety can deal with a lot of things. He can deal - he used to be able to deal - with Thomas hating him, being afraid of him. With the other sides dismissing him and his worth. With Deceit wanting more than he seemed able to give. But he can’t deal with the idea that Sleep might be seriously worried about him because that would lead him down a path that he doesn’t feel capable of going down. Part of the reason he had been able to decide he was done with it all was was the conviction that nobody would miss him or care. Anxiety feels something unpleasant drop in his stomach at the mere thought that he might have been wrong - and with someone he hadn’t even said goodbye to. Why hadn’t he said goodbye to Sleep? Because he had run out of time?

Or maybe because the function had always been just a little too good at seeing things Anxiety hadn’t wanted him to see and he might have worked out his plan. 

“Riiiiight,” Sleep drawls, and although half of his face is obscured by his large glasses, Anxiety knows he is being glared at. It makes him fidget slightly against the bed, tugging the black sleeves of his hoodie down around his hands, little sweater paws of nerves. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not when a mere word has withered his confidence so, Sleep simply carrying on without his input anyway.

“And if I let you walk on out of my room I’m sure you won’t try and fling yourself into the darkest corners of the Subconscious again and let Thomas’ mind destroy you, right?” 

“None of your business,” he replied after a couple of seconds, only too aware of how much like a petulant child he sounded but really, why did it matter to Sleep what he did? Why had he - apparently - stopped him in the first place? Anxiety crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself playing with his sleeves and betraying just how ill at ease he was with this whole conversation, how disorientated he was to even be here - anywhere. He tried to stare at Sleep without blinking, giving him his best ‘Dark Side’ glare. 

Completely unphased and apparently unimpressed, Sleep stared back, peering at him over the top of his large shades, his brown eyes seeming to grow larger against the rim of his glasses. 

“I warned you girlfriend. I said as much, did I not? I gay up said, I would be keeping an eye on you.” 

“Well... yeah,” Anxiety admitted, feeling even more of his brittle and fake confidence crackle away at that, at the voice which whispered in his mind that Sleep was serious, that this was because - somehow - he cared. “I didn’t... I mean I wasn’t actually going to hold you to that.” He couldn’t help the note of bewilderment that entered his words and was it his imagination or did Sleep’s eyes seem to soften slightly in the pale light? 

“Of course I was gonna watch out for you. I saw you sneaking in to speak to Thomas while he was asleep, I mean hello, that’s sorta my whole deal here.” Sleep gestured to himself as he spoke, his drink sloshing dangerously against the rim of his cup as he moved. This is not a conversation Anxiety wants to have, but then again, when did anything go his way? 

“So you were spying on me?” He can’t help but slip into the defensive, to try and shift the conversation into something else. Make Sleep mad, then mad at him and perhaps he will forget the original conversation until after Anxiety is gone. It’s a deflection tactic, cowardly perhaps but it is one that has worked well for him in the past. Roman never fails to fall for it when he needs to get him away from a particular wound and if it means he damages any kind of hope of a truce between them, then so be it. 

Better a lack of relationship, friendship than Thomas gets hurt or anyone realises that dark little Anxiety actually has feelings and needs to be coddled, pitied or lied to. He won’t have them lying that they care, but he hadn’t asked Sleep to do any of this. He had tried to hide it from Sleep and it would have been so easy for him simply to pretend he hadn’t seen him in Thomas’ room, so easy to him just go and Anxiety honestly can’t understand why he didn’t, why - or how - he saved him. 

To his frustration, the function doesn’t seem to want to raise to the bait. Instead, Sleep gives a deep, heavy sigh and for perhaps the first time in his existence, he actually looks... tired somehow.

“You know, I understand why you felt like you had to do what you did, but that was still the dumbest thing you've ever done. And I'm counting the Great Summer Incident of Anxiety being an utter idiot to his fabulously awesome friend Sleep, who is magnanimous to have forgiven him long ago, among the list of dumb things you’ve done in the past.”

Anxiety stares at him, mouth dropping open and he can’t even pretend to be aloof or uncaring, not when he drops a bombshell like that on him. There is just so much going on in those words and he feels a little dizzy at the implications of them all, unsure where to even begin with any of that. That he claimed to understand, that it was dumb, that there was a name for their fight all those years ago... or the fact that he had apparently forgive him, just never bothered to tell him that.

“I... wait, what?”

“I _said_ it was dumb sugar cake... and that I forgive you for our fight,” Sleep repeated and no, it didn’t make any more sense hearing it for a second time, Anxiety staring at him as though he had grown another head. It certainly would have been something he could have handled better than the idea that Sleep might have forgiven him for the horrible things he said and did. Maybe this was all a dream after all, some last minute fantasy. Maybe not. He needed to know, needed to understand and that meant having to actually poke a stick into the hornet nest and go down a road he didn’t really want to. Whatever answer he got had to be better than this uncertainty that was churning in him and making him feel sick. 

“Why? How? But... but I said, I mean I did, terrible things,” Anxiety mumbles, shrinking further into himself and the knowledge that Sleep hated him after their fight had been all that had kept him going some nights, a cold, painful fury, a determination to somehow stick it to The Man - or to Sleep. Now he was faced with the concept that all of that had been for nothing and he could have had the function’s friendship and support all these years. Cold hurt was one thing but it was nothing against the idea he could have _talked_ to someone and not had every word thrown back in his face. 

“Yeah, you did,” Sleep agreed easily, taking another deep gulp of his drink and giving a happy little sound of contentment. He examined it critically for a couple of moments before focusing his attention back on Anxiety, still looking serious and more than a little tired. “I also know a certain little snake had been hissing in your ear.”

Anxiety looked away at that, feeling a faint blush crossing his features. Deceit had never liked his friendship with Sleep, had claimed it was dangerous to hang out with him, to cross into the Subconscious so easily. Thinking about it, it had been Deceit who had first pointed out things that had seemed so obvious once he saw they were there, fault lines that ran across their friendship until he had become convinced that Sleep had been using him, that Sleep was just waiting for the moment to stab him in the back and so he had to act first.

At the time he had thought Deceit was simply looking out for him, not necessarily out of the goodness of his heart but so that all the dark sides were protected. Deceit couldn’t do his job properly if something happened to Anxiety. Now though, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else at play, if maybe Deceit had been whispering simply because he had hated their friendship. Not that it changed Anxiety’s actions of course, he had still been the one to panic, to lash out and self destruct because that was just what he was good at. But maybe, if Sleep’s words were true, it wasn’t the end of the world he had made that mistake, because somehow, no matter how improbable it seemed, he was worthy of some form of forgiveness.

That sends him mentally reeling. 

“What did you even do Sleep? How did you... find me?” Change the subject, change the subject, he had to because there were feelings here, swirling under the ice, heavy shadows that were forming into familiar shapes with every second that passed and the ice grew thinner and thinner. 

“I caught you.” Sleep looked pleased with himself, far too pleased than he really had any right to be at that cryptic statement, finally placing his drink back on the small wooden table beside the large bed. “Anyhow, it was _you_ who saved yourself.”

“What?”

“I dragged you here, but you made the choice to come back, all I did was give you somewhere to come back to. It’s peaceful here, safe. And you’re deep enough in the Subconscious that Thomas can’t actually feel you anymore so you kind of got your wish after all. But you’re in my room so you’re safe from the waves that could hurt you, you are welcome.” 

It takes him a long moment to truly realise what Sleep is saying. 

That to all outward extents and purposes, he has faded. As far as the rest of the sides know, he is gone, his presence no longer pressing down on Thomas and so long as he stays in this room, it seems as though that would be the case. He achieved his wish of freeing Thomas from his influence. Thomas can be happy now, better now. The rest can celebrate because mean old Anxiety is gone at last. It is a fitting punishment perhaps, that he is still actually here, that he will hear through Sleep how they react once they finally realise the truth.

Maybe once Sleep sees how much happier they all are without him, he won't argue when Anxiety tries to leave again.

“I'm a fool to have fought back to any kind of living,” Anxiety tells him with a small huff of a laugh. He pulls up his knees closer to his chest, drawing in a shaky breath. Saying it out loud might help, might make the reality become that little much more real. “It's not like I'm wanted, they all make that perfectly clear whenever I show up, I'm just trying to do my job but they all... they all hate me Sleep and I’m not that much of a moron that I want to keep showing up to be mocked or overlooked or hurt. I’m not strong enough either.”

Sleep looks a little stricken, for the first time seemingly unsure of what to say. No doubt he has finally realised what a screw up Anxiety was and what a mistake he had made in bringing him into his room. 

“You’re plenty strong Anxiety. I know they don’t hate ya, they just don’t know how to show they care to you. Probably think you would bite their heads off if they tried but they still should. But they don’t hate ya.” 

Anxiety shakes his head in disagreement, feeling tears start to well up in his eyes. He lifts a hand to roughly swipe across his face but to his frustration, his eyes instantly fill up again, emotions reaching critical mass. He would love to be able to believe Sleep’s words but he knows the truth. He knows how disliked and overlooked he really is, he knows it.

“They... they didn’t even notice,” An-Virgil whispered, feeling the last shards of ice shatter and slip away, melting into nothingness. Everything he was, all the hateful thoughts, comments, all the things he did to try and prove himself blooming back up in his mind like an ugly bruise. Everything slams back into him, all the pain and agony he had been trying to repress, it all unfurls in his mind, layers of pain, each sting rising up in him anew. 

He is Virgil again and everything _**hurts**_. 

“I said goodbye and they didn't even _notice_.” He howls without thought, his whole body shaking as the tidal wave of emotion smashes into him, tears streaming freely down his face. He cries and he cries and he _cries_. He cries for what he had never had, what he was so selfish and desperate enough to still want. He cries because he is so tired of hurting, because he doesn’t want to be scary and the bad guy any longer, he doesn’t want to have to be what he is supposed to be.

It's unfair to have expected them to notice, when he had gone to such great lengths to make sure they didn't - to the extent of talking to Thomas while he was sleeping and thus physically incapable of noticing. Patton had maybe noticed, had actually asked if he was okay and while it might have just been polite concern instead of caring, he had still asked. Virgil had simply brushed it away, and Patton had let him, hadn’t pushed. If it had been Logan or Roman or god forbid, Thomas acting like that, he would have gone into full on Dad mode and would have worked his way to the truth but because it was Virgil and there was still that disconnect. That glass between them that Virgil has put up, placed around himself to create a personal bubble where he can be safe and secure - but not comforted or happy. Where they don’t follow him when he retreats. Virgil knows it is his fault that they didn’t notice his pain. 

That doesn't make it hurt any less.

A pair of warm arms enclose him and in the moment all Virgil is capable of is leaning into the embrace. The edge of a leather coat presses into his nose and the softness makes him cry harder, curling up into Sleep as he sobs harshly, gasping, choking sobs, any attempt at talking lost to the wails instead. He should stop crying. Or he should pull away from sleep, turn his back on him and suffer alone as he does every time he cries. Virgil does neither. Sleep rocks him ever so slightly as he sobs, even humming something softly. He doesn’t seem disgusted or impatient for this to end and somewhere in the middle of his misery, Virgil feels strangely confident that he could cry forever if he wanted to and Sleep would hold him the entire time.

Virgil cries until he can’t anymore, until every tear has been squeezed out of him. Gradually, other thoughts and sensations come back to him, the warmth of Sleep holding him, the press of cooling leather against his cheek, the river of tears and snot and goodness knows what else. He can feel his face heat up in embarrassment and Virgil knows this is the moment he should pull away first before Sleep has to do it for him and that would just be even worse. It is so good though, so nice to have this heat, this support and he’s almost in his lap yet it seems so natural. He doesn’t want it to ever end, no matter how impossible that might actually be. 

A soft little click of a tongue has him tensing a little and no, he waited too long, now Sleep is going to have to say something and it's going to be awkward and awful and - and Sleep simply adjusts his hold slightly, drawing him closer, Virgil holding himself tense for another second before softening, surrendering to the hug and he can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him.

Patton, back when he was still just Morality and they were all just kids perhaps. 

He’s never hugged Sleep before of course, never allowed himself to think about it, but he supposes it makes sense, that the literal representation of sleep was capable of giving the best hugs. He has nothing really to compare them to but it certainly feels how he has always imagined a really good hug to feel like. Virgil had spent more time than he really feels comfortable admitting out loud, imagining what hugs might feel like and although this is like how he thought, his theory had been a pitiful shadow compared to the glorious reality that is this.

“Rest hun,” Sleep tells him softly, voice floating somewhere above him. Now that it is mentioned, Virgil does feel tired, a soft tug on all his limbs, trying to pull him further down. He is safe here, safe and warm cuddled up to Sleep. A hand runs through his hair, fingers pressing against his scalp with just the right amount of pressure to make him almost purr in contentment, the last feelings of awkwardness fading away into a boneless relaxed state. His eyes flutter closed and Virgil finds he doesn't want or need to be vigilant, to force them open because he is _safe_ here.

He sleeps.

When he wakes up, his neck is killing him and he’s still pressed up against Sleep, the function having shifted them slightly during his rest so that they are against the headboard properly. A leather clad arm is wrapped around his shoulders and although he knows sooner or later that embarrassment is going to creep back into his mind sooner or later for the moment he simply allows himself to enjoy the security of just being held. 

Eventually though, he has to face the world. He has to deal with everything and where better to start than with Sleep and the humiliating meltdown he had been forced to witness?

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whispers, still completely drained by his crying fit of before, although he has no idea how long ago it actually was, no clue how long he has been sleeping. 

He somehow feels... lighter though. Not better of course, the pain is still there, a single cry and one hug, no matter how needed, cannot wipe away the pain but it is muted once more. Not repressed or ignored but it feels as though the chains wrapped around him are made of silk instead of metal, letting his breathe instead of choking all his thoughts away.

“I’m so so sorry Sleep. For ever-”

“Remy.” Sleep tells him suddenly, interrupting his apology and Virgil can't even muster up any negative feelings to be mad at him. He doesn't feel mad.

“What?” He seems to be saying that a lot today, his tired mind struggling to make sense of everything that has happened. It had all seemed so simple in the moment but now he knows it is anything but. Above him, it is the function’s turn to give a soft huff of a laugh.

“That is my name, Remy. It felt long overdue. We just hugged out an epic cry Anxiety, not to mention my awesomeness in helping to save you so you could save yourself. Plus we are officially friends again,” Sleep - no, _Remy_ tells him, tone deadly serious as he shifts a little, pulling back so that Virgil can see his face. Somewhere along the way, he pushed his glasses completely up onto his hair, his whole face open and unguarded. He lifts Virgil’s hand with his own, pinkie wrapping around pinkie and Virgil is pretty sure you are only supposed to do that when you make a promise.

“I got your back boo.”

“Oh.” Virgil isn't really sure what to make of that. Of the name so freely given without any expectation of anything in return. Or the promise to watch his back, the offer of protection, the knowledge that he isn't alone anymore. No matter what happens, no matter how much the rest celebrate him leaving, he has this. It makes him want to cry all over again but this time the tears would be of joy instead of sorrow.

He finds he wants to give Remy something back. From the look in Remy’s eyes, he knows he doesn't _need_ to - and how strange to see that in a gaze aimed at him, to know there was no conditions attached with such a gift. How stranger still, to see that look and actually believe it.

He still wants to. He still feels as though this is long overdue, Virgil taking a shallow breath before blurting out his reply.

“I'm Virgil.”

Remy’s smile grows wider and wider, lips stretching and he's going to laugh, Virgil just knows it. It's a ridiculous name but it is his name and more than that, Thomas gave it to him and now Remy is going to laugh and that is going to hurt. Time seems to slow as he becomes more and more hyper aware of the curl of lips and the sound that is bound to ring out any second.

It doesn't. Remy doesn't laugh but he still might and Virgil regrets, regrets, regrets.

A cold feeling washes over him without warning, something sharp and biting, a violent gust of wind that cuts deep into his bones. It is as crisp as a clear winter morning, blowing away every other sensation.

“They... they are in my _room_.” Virgil jumps off the bed, all worries about Remy laughing at the reveal of his name forgotten in the face of this far more important, more terrifying problem. He paces without thought, a sudden burst of restless energy having him twisting this way and that, trying to settle on a feeling and some idea of what he is going to do about the fact that three of them have apparently sunk down into his room. The three of them... and Thomas. Virgil feels faint at the knowledge that his host has gone too, that something has gone so wrong that they have been forced to retreat inside of the mind in order to deal with it. It has to be huge, whatever it is, if Thomas came too. Virgil can't imagine what could be important enough to make them all travel to his room.

The sunglasses are back on Remy’s face suddenly, masking him again and making him look strangely foreign.

“So?” 

Virgil stared at him, the single word stopping his pacing and so? So? It was a huge deal. Even ignoring the terrifying fact that _Thomas was in his room_ , there was still the horror of whatever had prompted them to do that in the first place and he wants to protect them from whatever it is. Nothing awfully earth shattering seemed to be going on when he reached out for the connection between himself and his host. It fizzed and crackled a little, as though he was on the phone and the line was terrible but Virgil can sense enough to know that Thomas doesn't feel very anxious or scared or anything that would require his input. When in doubt - wasn't that just shorthand for when Virgil - go on the offensive.

“It’s an invasion of my privacy, plus they’ve never wanted to before, how dare they now,” Virgil snapped, lifting a hand to run through his own hair distractedly before resuming his pacing. From his rapid movements he could see Remy, still seated on the bed and looking irritatingly calm as he shook his head at the anxious side.

“So what, you left them and that means you left your room open to them if they wanted to, technically it isn't even your room if you rejected it. Try again.”

“It’s dangerous!” Virgil tried and he didn't get what Remy wanted, if there was a specific reason he needed to say but if there was one thing Virgil was good at, it was coming up with a long list of reasons as to why something was dangerous, wrong or any host of other adjectives as to why things shouldn't happen and they should just stay in the nice safe bubble. Thomas and everyone going to his room was way, way beyond leaving the familiar bubble. It was popping it with Roman’s sword and then jumping up and down on the tattered remains of the bubble. 

Remy still looked unimpressed behind his shades at Virgil’s reason.

“True but that's not really what has got you all worked up, you know there is a very good chance they will be fine and again, you took this risk when you ducked out. Try. Again.” 

Virgil deflated, the anger draining out of him, doubt and worry creeping into its place. He twists his fingers together nervously, swallowing once or twice as he tries to sort his mind and thoughts into some kind of coherent sense. If Remy didn't want to hear anger or excuses or even any kind of danger, then there was really only one other reason as to why he felt so worked up at the knowledge that they had come into his room. Remy simply stared, silent and yet somehow where that might have once felt oppressive, it felt almost... almost as though he was trying to support him. To give him the strength to finally whisper his answer, voice little more than a low, raspy husk, barely audible at all.

“Why.... why have they come after me? Why do they care?” 

“There we go...” Remy murmured softly, a hint of pride in his voice as he shifting a little and shimming across the bed until the leather clad function was sitting on the edge, legs dangling off, still watching him behind those large black shades. “You gonna go talk to them?”

“I have to. They came to my room.” Virgil sounded anything but enthusiastic about the prospect and hiding for the rest of eternity inside of Sleep’s room sounded far more appealing. But they had come into his room and as much as Virgil wanted to avoid them, he knew he had to confront them about that alone.

“Well then, we better get you ready. Your makeup has run but don't worry we can soon fix that,” Remy told him with delight. With a snap of his fingers, a packet of cotton wool pads and makeup remover appears in his hand. It all seems so surreal, this moment, this situation as a whole and now Remy was leaning closer, long pale fingers gripping his chin firmly yet there was still a softness to them, the feeling that if Virgil tried to pull away, Remy would let him. He can do nothing but stand there, transfixed.

The others touch is cooler than before, the delicious chill of the middle of the night when you stick one leg out from under the covers just to relax yourself. It makes Virgil shiver a little even as he leans further into the touch, letting Remy carefully wipe away the ruined makeup.

Remy smiles fondly, wipes vanishing as soon as his job is done, another click and a small pallet of black eyeshadow appears in its place.

“Let's make you look a million dollars, about time they saw what they were missing. You are gonna slay when I am done with you girl, then you go get ‘em.”

Right. Go. Go get them. Confront them in his room, demand they leave. Fix whatever was the problem and then have to hear them tell him that they understood, that they accepted his decision to leave.

Sure. 

He could do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, the advert Sleep/Remy was watching is the Cravendale ‘Cats with thumbs’ and can be watched here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GSuH6LYMho


	20. In the blackest of rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For the first time he starts to give serious thought to the idea Remy had floated, that he might have a purpose. Virgil doesn’t really understand how a lack of his influence could have led to this... mess, but it's the only thing that has changed recently. “
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil returns to his room intending to tell them all to leave. That goes about as well as any other plan he has ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that newest episode was a trip and a half wasn’t it! I am reeling from it. Apologies once again for the delay here, I hope to get back to a more regular posting schedule soon, especially since my biggest project is finally finished and you should all be seeing that soon! 
> 
> Video covered in this is finally **Can Anxiety Be Good? Accepting Anxiety Part Two** , all quotes are taken directly from it and belong to Thomas. We finally made it! 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _I Will Follow you into the Dark_ by **Death Cab for Cutie**.

****

### **In the blackest of rooms.**

**  
**

He takes it back.

Virgil absolutely can _not_ do this.

What was he thinking, letting Remy talk him into this? Yeah they were in his room and yes, that was bad, that was terrible in fact, but there were ways to get them back out of his room without having to actually go and talk to them. He could scare them out or create some disturbance in another part of the mind, a situation that they had to go and deal with rather than whatever strange reason had brought them to his dark forgotten little corner. 

But no, he had somehow been convinced that an actual confrontation was the right way to go about this. Actually asking them what they were doing there and what they wanted. 

It was going to be horrible. Virgil didn’t want to have to hear the excuse for why they had journeyed to his room. He didn’t want to see how much better they were all no doubt doing without him there to contimatiate everything and drag the mood down into ruined. Worst of all, he really didn’t want to have to see their faces when they realise what he tried to do. He doesn’t want to see relief hidden away under masks of caring or poilentess, doesn’t want to hear whichever one decides to be spokesperson and thank him for doing what had to be done. 

He doesn’t want to have to hear any of his make believe family tell him he needs to try again but do it right this time, and wasn’t that just like Anxiety, to fail at everything he tried to do. He couldn't even managed to remove himself correctly. 

“Now, now, none of that,” Remy scolds lightly, as though he knows exactly what is going on behind Virgil’s carefully crafted blank stare. “I can all but hear your brain whirling from here and it's giving me a headache kay? You are a part of Thomas and you have as much right to be here as the rest of them. You match your sweet little tush in there and find out why they came. It might surprise you. It’s a good thing sugar cake, I promise.” 

Virgil wishes he could believe that. Wishes it was as simple as that but then he’s never been the brave one in Thomas’ psyche. He has never been the one to stand up to things in the cold light of day - panic and fight sure, that rush of adrenaline, the frantic pounding of the heart, the drum beat that was so loud it was all you could hear in the ears... that kind of bravery he was good at. All caught up in the moment. Not this, something cold and deliberate. He wasn’t Roman, he couldn’t easily walk down the path to face his enemy, couldn’t show true bravery.

He stood at the doorway that marked the boundary between Remy’s room and the Subconscious, an invisible line that hid his influence 

He wasn’t Patton, who could just smile through any pain. Virgil had never been able to do that. He doesn’t want to do this. He has to do it though. He knows he has to, even if he doesn’t quite know how. Like so many things, plans were never his strong point. He wasn’t Logan, able to write down a step by step guide as to how to achieve his goal. He was just Virgil. Stupid, pathetic Virgil who forever lurks on the fringes of acceptable society, who yearns for the warmth but refuses to give anything back in turn. 

He was just Virgil and that wasn’t much of anything. 

“Hey Remy?” Virgil mutters softly, his words causing Sleep to glance back at him. He plays with the strings hanging down from his hood for a few moments, torn between what he wants to do and the worry as to how Remy might react if he does it.

“What’s up boo?” Remy asks and something about the way he stands, so loose and relaxed, that grants Virgil that familiar rush of courage. Remy is always relaxed to a degree, always looks two steps away from just flopping onto the nearest soft surface and taking a blissful six hour nap but this is a different sort to his usual pose, this isn't him putting on any kind of show. It is Remy feeling relaxed, feeling good, an emotion that Virgil of all people has inspired in him. 

It's enough to make him step closer and lift his arms, wrapping them around the function, hugging him tight. It’s hardly the best hug - but then Virgil hasn’t had a lot of practice, he has had very little experience of receiving hugs in the past. He has even less experience in actually giving them back and actually Virgil doesn’t think he has ever initiated a hug in his whole existence. After everything Remy has done for him however, it doesn’t feel right not to give him a hug, to show him even in a tiny and pathetic way just how grateful he was. 

No matter what was about to happen when he left this room and returned to his own, no matter how badly it might all crash and burn around him, he knows for the first time that he has a friend of his own. Someone who didn’t want to use him or his talents for their own gain. Someone who might have hit their head at some point because a concussion is really the only thing Virgil can think of to explain why someone likes him but right now he is willing to take it.

(Later, when everything is ash and pain around him, when he has no doubt ruined this last fragile chance with the other sides, he will almost certainly doubt this friendship had has made. He will no doubt pick apart every weak spot in this conversation, every look or word that could be analysed. 

But that will all happen later.

Virgil for once in his life is trying his best not to think of later.)

“Thank you. For... well, for not giving up on me. Even when I’d given up on myself,” Virgil whispers, head buried against Remy’s neck and his bravery can only go so far. He can’t bring himself to actually look at him, to see the disgust that is no doubt on his face. Remy is stiff in his hold for the briefest of moments before he actually leans into the hug - Virgil can feel his mind reeling, shocked by the fact that Remy seems to actually want this. His arms are around Virgil in turn now, hugging him back.

“Don’t you sweat it Virgil. I’m never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never going to run around and desert you.”

“Did... did you just _rick-roll me_?” Virgil asked after a long pause, too stunned by the serious way in which Remy had recited the lyrics to even pretend to be annoyed. Remy laughed, something light and delighted, the rare feeling of waking up refreshed and knowing that there is no need for you to get up just yet. But instead of turning over and dropping off into a deep sleep that will only cause misery when you eventually wake up, you doze instead in blissful pleasure. Virgil can feel that tingle of pleasure from the laugh and it keeps him warm even as Remy slowly untangles himself from the hug and nudges Virgil towards the door.

“Off you go, you can do it. Knock ‘em off their feet.” 

With those final words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Virgil takes a deep breath and transports himself to his room. It’s different than usual, his items rearranged to account for the change in location. Where there had once been a bed, there was now a sofa, the dimensions of his room elongated to accommodate the fact that Thomas was there too. Wherever Thomas was, the mind would adapt accordingly but even so, bringing him here is still very dangerous. 

Not to mention, Virgil misses the dimensions of his own bedroom. Not that he has any right to, he did abandon it. And them. No, Virgil can’t think like that, he has to get them out of here. 

“What are you doing in my room!” He screeches, needing to be on the defense at once. He can’t afford to come in softly and let them run the conversation. He is in charge. Virgil is going to set the tone, set the pace and try and get them out of there as quickly as he can. 

His plan to try and stay aloof and in charge of what is happening is thrown out of the window mere seconds later when Thomas appears to show genuine pleasure in seeing him and... what? 

_Trap_ , his mind hisses. He listens to it because Virgil has long ago learnt it is impossible to ignore that voice and it has pointed out all the problems before with its hateful logic. It has saved him from greater pain time and time again by letting him know that what he thought he saw wasn't reality. He would have caved and accepted the easy love Patton offered without thinking about how much more it would hurt down the line. It is almost unbearable to cut him out of his life as it is. How much more terrible would it have been if he had let Patton in? With that knowledge in mind, Virgil listens to that voice again. 

_Trap, trap, trap, oh it's clearly a trap. Why would Thomas of all people be happy to see you? You’re everything he hates, everything he has hoped and dreamed to get away from. He wants to get rid of you, he always has. This is just to get you to relax so he can deliver the knockout blow with more force. Let you smile and think you’re wanted and then tell you to leave. It’s cruel but its what you deserve and you know it._

Except... Thomas isn't cruel. Not like that, not really. He is normally a very honest person thanks to the four of them all doing their best in their own way to guide him towards being the best version of himself that he can be. He isn’t the sort to whisper lies to someone just for a joke or a prank. Still, this can’t be real. 

“You literally all just screamed in unison upon seeing me,” Virgil replied after a second, focusing on that, on the reaction that he understood over the words that he didn’t. He wasn’t upset they had screamed, he wasn’t. He was. A little. It hurt, because Remy had made him hope despite himself, had let that little hopeful whisper that never seemed to finally die pipe up once again and say maybe, just maybe, things would be different again.

And then they all screamed in horror at the sight of him. It was his room, the place they expected to find him... and they were all disgusted to see him. Virgil repressed the shiver that wanted to run through him, staring at them as though he thought he might never see them again. He had already said his goodbyes, had attempted to accept that as the truth so perfects his somewhat muted surprise at actually seeing them once more wasn’t that far of a leap. 

He blinked a couple of times, as if seeing Thomas for the first time. What _was_ he wearing? What _was_ his hair? No, no, no no no no, what on earth had they been doing? How could Logan with his logic, let Thomas go out of his bedroom looking like that? What if they had friends over? How could Roman have just let him turn on the camera knowing that so many people were going to see him in such a terrible state? He leaves them alone for one little stretch of time and they allowed Thomas to start to fall to pieces.

For the first time he starts to give serious thought to the idea Remy had floated, that he might have a purpose. Virgil doesn’t really understand how a lack of his influence could have led to this... mess, but it's the only thing that has changed recently. 

As if in response to his thoughts, Thomas starts to panic, trying to fix his hair, Roman gleefully tossing him a hairbrush. Virgil feels a little twinge of... something, in the pit of his stomach at that. He’s glad Thomas is straightening up, but maybe he shouldn’t have to. Maybe Thomas should be allowed to be messy if he wants and not have to deal with Virgil freaking out over every little thing. But... but Roman seems so delighted that Thomas is looking his best. He blinks a couple of times in surprise, the thought taking a while to sink in and make itself properly felt. He and Roman... agree on something. 

If Virgil was braver, he might point that out but there is hardly time to focus on one thing before he is dragged to another, pushed with his back against the wall as they all crowd him with their questions, their looks, their words. So much for thinking he could retain any degree of control over this. Why were they all being so dense? So deliberately slow witted. He’s done the right thing, the best thing for them and they were all acting as though they hadn’t seen it coming. 

Virgil has only done what they all wished he had done ages ago. 

And now, as a final punishment for making them wait so long for him to actually do it, they seem intent on making him say it out loud. Only for Virgil to instantly back peddle, unable, even now, to hurt Patton on purpose. He has done it too many times by accident to ever wish to do it on purpose. 

“I love my dark strange son,” Patton tells the room at large, a shy but bright grin on his face. 

Roman is instantly saying... something after that. Virgil pulls a face now and then, cutting him off with a look and wave of his arm because it was Roman and so was probably not the nicest thing in the world. Things Roman said about him generally were less than flattering and he was pretty sure that this was the same thing. He wasn't thinking about Roman however. He could barely even hear him, taking in a bit of the tone but it was muted, drowned out by the rising tide that was his heart beat, those six words screaming through his body.

Patton really was too good for this world. Even after everything Virgil has done, Patton seems intent on claiming him as his own and loving him. 

_He wasn’t your dad before_ , that familiar voice interjects, and all at once the sound of his heartbeat falls away, Virgil feeling as though he has been tossed into the sea in the early hours of a January morning, when everything was icy cold. _When you were all kids, when you needed him more than anything else, he told you to go away remember? How many times do you have to be reminded of that before you finally get it through your thick skull that you don't really matter? He said he had to focus on the other two before you, you were never good enough for him then and now that he what, feels bad for poor little Anxiety he is going to pretend you matter?_

Sometimes, Virgil wonders if he will ever heal from the wounds of his childhood. Surely they should have scarred over by now, leaving the skin puckered up and red, angry looking true, but no longer an open, gaping wound. 

Virgil needs them to go away. Why won’t they just go away? Why do they insist on prolonging this charade? 

He is tired. So very tired. Virgil wants to run away again, wants to hide back in Remy’s room and let the function lull him into a dreamless sleep. He is sick and tired of being their punching bag, of offering up perfectly good ideas and have them ignored until someone else says exactly the same thing. His ideas get listened to when someone else voices them.

So why is Thomas so insistent on clinging to him? 

Why is Logan suddenly talking, words fast as he explains how much they apparently need him, how they didn’t realise they needed him until he was gone. Virgil should be pleased at that, but all he can think is that it has taken them all far too long to come to that conclusion. He shouldn’t have had to try and leave for them to decide they actually want him around. How can he trust any of this? It could be pity or guilt, not wanting the stain of his fading away to be on their own souls. Virgil wants to sigh, wants to shake them all one at a time until they actually listen, until they understand. 

It isn’t a good thing that he influenced so much of Thomas. He _shouldn’t_ factor into every little choice Thomas makes, for all that he wants what is best for him. 

Thomas was right not to want him around. He needs a better Anxiety, one that knows when to relax and when to be on guard. One that doesn’t have to check every couple of steps to see if the keys are still in the jacket pocket, or who spends a whole evening out worrying that they forgot to lock the door, thus ruining any chance Thomas might have to actually enjoy his time with his friends. 

Virgil holds him back. It’s a bitter truth but one that he has to admit to out loud now that they are all here. 

No doubt Roman agrees but now that Virgil is taking the time to actually listen to his rants, he can’t help but notice they are not as angry or as negative as he had imagined. It isn’t Roman saying how much of a menace he is or how he should stay far away from them all. It’s Roman asking a surprisingly good question and then slipping off onto a tangent that is more suited to one of the others, Patton perhaps since it is food related. It’s a surprisingly good analogy and if things weren’t so tense, he might have laughed. 

Roman is acting oddly. Okay, it _is_ Roman sure, but even by Roman’s unusual standards, Virgil feels as though he is acting weird. Perhaps it is just the fact that he is here at all that is making him act out of character. Virgil doesn’t believe for one second that Roman wanted to come here, that he had thought trying to talk to him and apparently attempt to convince him to return

Thinking about it, they are all acting oddly. Very faint sirens start to go off in Virgil’s mind, as though he is hearing them on a clear night from a great distance away. It is too faint a sound for him to be able to place, to work out exactly what is making him so nervous. Maybe it is just his anxiety playing up, his paranoia. The fact they have come here at all is odd, out of character. 

Every word and action seems designed to make him doubt everything that came before and he doesn't know where solid ground is anymore. It has been a long time since things made sense to him - did they ever? Things had to have been clear once upon a time surely? He remembers being confident that it had to be done this way, that they _wanted_ him to play the bad guy and so he would do that. Somewhere along the way though, that conviction had shifted into doubt and then cracked into a series of horribly sharp pieces, all pointing that he was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Virgil doesn’t know why he thought he needed to be the villain in the first place anymore or the moment exactly, when he changed his mind. He doesn’t know a lot of things. 

As it is however, Virgil has more pressing matters to be focusing on. Such as why doesn't Roman _get it_? Out of all of them, Virgil would have expected the Prince, the Hero, the Actor, to understand the importance of costume. Being scary makes them scared and so makes them listen, makes them react and defend themselves - and so defend Thomas - better. 

He hates it. 

It is still the only way he knows how to do his job. 

The videos have shown him that his way is wrong though, that there has to be a better way. Exactly what way, Virgil doesn’t know but all the time spent actually interacting with Thomas instead of only screaming that some bad was about to happen, had taught him that. He is too overbearing, too loud, too paranoid too... too _anxious_. 

He tells them so. Like almost every conversation they have, they don’t agree or even listen to him.

“I just got a lot of feelings!”

Patton wasn’t the only one. His own feel like a raging dumpster fire within him, flames licking hungrily this way and that. They want to devour him and everything he is and it is so tempting, the thought of just giving in. It is so tempting to finally be weak, to break down in front of them and finally let them see the pain his own life causes him. Virgil focuses on his breathing instead. On keeping himself calm and keeping that little hopeful voice under control. The one that wants to so simply believe what they are saying and say he will come back. The one that would accept this offering so gratefully without even thinking to check for any hidden conditions or the knife that is surely gleaming in one of their hands. 

Even after everything that has happened, even after how determined he had been to leave them all behind, to just fade away, at the end of the day he finds he still just wants them to want him in turn. 

They seem to be offering that now, after having a taste of what it is like without him. Virgil still doesn’t know exactly what happened while he was in Remy’s room but it must have been completely terrible if they have all decided that having Anxiety in their lives is better. He feels like shuddering at the mere thought, his brain spinning horrible idea after horrible idea.

But what if this is all just temporary? It is one thing for them to say he is needed, it is a completely different thing for them to actually change how they treat him. If he comes back with them, how long will it be before they remember just how annoying he can be? How long before they start kicking him when he is down again, how long before they reject every idea he has? Things cannot carry on as they were, that much is clear to him.

If he comes back, Virgil knows things have to change. Not just their behaviour, but his own as well. 

Virgil can’t carry on playing the bad guy. It’s a skin that has grown increasingly tight and more uncomfortable as time has passed, the edges of the mask he feels compelled to wear pressing deeper and deeper into his soul, sharp edges cutting and leaving invisible scars that hurt despite not being visible to the naked eye.

After so long though, Virgil doesn’t know if he has the courage to take it off. He doesn’t even know what kind of person they will find under it. 

He would ask them if they really mean what they say but he is torn from his own self pity by the fact that they are still all acting in increasingly odd ways. Virgil no longer thinks this is just his paranoia talking, there is more at stake than his own self doubts. It isn't just because they seem genuine in their desire for him to come back that makes him worry for their own sanity. They are acting more... more them. As if their personalities are become more and more exaggerated as time goes on, the three of them appearing to almost compete with one another in who can be the most over the top. That siren in the back of his mind is growing louder all the time, and it frustrates him that he cannot place the reason behind it. It is hard to focus on his job, on protecting them, when they all seem so keen on disarming him completely.

Logan has facts and figures, instantly launching into a rant as to his apparent merits. Or rather, the merits of anxiety in general and while Virgil might be prepared to admit that some anxiety can be good or at least useful, there is a difference between that and the defectiveness that is Thomas’ own. He is faulty, broken, and if Thomas does need anxiety - he clearly does - then he needs one that is better than Virgil. Because all Virgil has ever wanted is to see Thomas safe and happy. 

Virgil pushes away those thoughts and the dark paths they lead him down, whispers of trying to throw himself back into the subscious for the good of Thomas, for the moment at least, because he needs to refute logic’s thinking. One side of the curve is as bad as the other after all. The sirens in his head somehow scream even louder at the way Logan snaps. He’s always been short tempered of course, so maybe this is just that. 

It isn’t just that.

Virgil _knows_ there is more going on here than just Logan being irritable. Roman admits it himself. He wasn’t his usual fabulous self and if they could just all _stop_ talking, stop confusing him with their words for just a minute or two perhaps he would be able to focus long enough to work it out. It is strange to want them to stop being nice to him, after they have spent so long hurting him accidentally, but he needs to work this out. 

So of course, he doesn’t get that. It is one thing to hear Logan tell him why he is useful, needed, how he is meant to function within his host. It is a completely different one to have Thomas himself start talking about how he matters to him. An alarm clock isn’t the nicest thing to be compared to, especially when Thomas finally admits that the noise - and by extension him - is unpleasant. 

It's still probably the best compliment he’s ever received. 

How sad is that. 

But Thomas still wants to try to work with him, to let him be a part of the whole. How can Virgil possibly refuse him, when Thomas is looking directly at him and asking for his help? He has never been able to say no to him. Maybe... maybe he shouldn’t have tried to leave after all. The others are instantly chiming in with comments of their own. No, no comments. _Compliments_. Ways in which he helps, in which he is useful, wanted. 

Virgil looks at them all and he can feel his throat start to tighten, a lump forming there and this is not how he expected this conversation to go. Virgil can barely remember what he was so worked up about in the first place. Something important he is sure. Something about his room and them, but it is swept away with the sheer force of emotion, of feeling that is threatening to make him cry. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

Patton of course wants him to come home. Logan is swayed as always by logic and it seems as though logic dictates that Anxiety is needed. Even a broken Anxiety like himself. No. Virgil can’t think of himself like that. Not if Logan thinks he has some value and he has to hold that close, because Logan wouldn’t try and spare his feelings, wouldn’t see the need. If he thought Virgil was damaged or dangerous he would say so. He wouldn’t list positives just for the sake of it, because he didn’t believe in coddling people. Thomas wants him too... and that should be enough. It almost is.

But Princey doesn't want him. He has never wanted him and Virgil isn’t strong enough to go back to that kind of relationship with Roman. 

It is so selfish of him, not to be satisfied with what the rest are offering, which is already so much more than he has ever imagined. Even in his wildest dreams when he thought about how much he loved them and what it would be like if even one of them properly loved him back, he had never dared to allow himself to think what it might be like if more than one would. And yet now that three of them are offering it, it isn’t enough. It isn’t strength that makes Virgil want all or nothing. It’s weakness. It is the knowledge of how cold things used to be and how even one side against him would create a perpetual winter and he can’t handle that. He would rather cease to be - or hide away forever in Remy’s room. 

His eyes widen as Roman launches into a speech and he never... never imagined that Roman would say anything like this to him. All Virgil can do is stare, his voice failing in him this moment, and he has never seen Roman this vulnerable, this soft towards him. At least, not since they were kids. They want him. They all want him and okay. Okay. He will come back. He will try. For them, he will try. Maybe things will actually be better. Maybe not, and even with all these heartwarming moments, he can’t completely silence the negative voice. But he can mostly drown it out for once, and resolve to try. For all of them.

The moment is broken as swiftly as it began, Roman spinning on his heel to look direct at Thomas for reassurance, for praise as if it is all he needs to live. Patton is close to tears, Logan yelling and trying to tell him something important. They... they are acting really weird again. No. No, not weird. **Anxious**. 

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh, what the heck is going on?”

The sirens explode over head. His room. He needed to get them out of his room, because it was dangerous, because he was dangerous. Virgil had come in here with the best of intentions, with the thought that he needed to get them away from the influence of his room before it was too late and while they had side tracked him with the best of intentions, Virgil shouldn’t have let them. His job is to protect and instead he simply watched them sink deeper and deeper into the tar that coats his room without even realising that was what he was seeing. 

Virgil only hopes he’s not too late. Thomas is staring at him, his own panic rising in response to the sudden influx of fear Virgil is experiencing and yet despite that, he is still looking at him trustingly, as if Thomas feels there is something Virgil might be able to do. Hopefully there is. He can feel the demonic echo that his voice gains when he is feeling particularly strong - weak - when he is radiating anxious energy. Everything is going wrong. They are in danger and it’s all his fault.

_**“These guys have all been in this corner of your mind for too long... It’s corrupting them.”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I didn’t get to the name reveal! This chapter was just growing too long, the video was so important to Virgil I didn’t know how to skip bits so I made the choice to cut the chapter into two and save the name reveal for next time along with some more delicious comfort. 
> 
> As always let me know what you think, I live off kudos and comments!


	21. To the place I belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. No, he might be anxious about the idea, but he will see it through. They are better than his darker thoughts give them credit for. He told Remy and the world didn’t end. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he told them. They all knew each other's name after all. Virgil feels himself squirm a little, sweating at the thought of willingly offering them what had to be his biggest secret.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Name reveals and late night chats with a few sides open Virgil’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name reveal time! We are finally here you guys, I’m so excited, there were times when I felt that we might never get this far. 
> 
> Video covered in this is still **Can Anxiety Be Good? Accepting Anxiety part two** , all quotes are taken directly from it and belong to Thomas. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Take Me Home, Country Roads_ by **John Denver**. The song gets everywhere right now doesn’t it. As always let me know what you think, kudos and comments feed my dark, dark soul!

****

### **To the place I belong**

**  
**

__  
**  
_“Keep it up Thomas. That’s good, keep going.”_  
**  


Virgil feels the heavy knot of anxiety in his chest dissipate a little as Thomas’ real living room shimmers back into existence around them as all four sides and Thomas pop back to reality. They made it. He helped and made sure they all made it and instead of yelling, instead of screaming and throwing the darkest look he could manage to make sure they were safe... he had remained calm. He had been using his second voice sure, but Virgil hadn’t been trying to scare Thomas. Quite the reverse actually, in his own limited way, he had been aiming at trying to be a calming presence. Before today, he would have dismissed the mere idea with a scoff but after everything they have just been though, he feels weightless, light enough that he could do that.

He does do that. He is calm and reassuring. He _helps_. 

If this is how things can work if he doesn’t have to be the bad guy anymore than maybe taking the risk is actually worth it. Them taking the risk in coming down to his room in the first place however, most certainly was _not_ worth it.

“You... rescued me,” Roman stammers, adjusting his sash absently as he spoke, more it seemed, out of needing to do something with his fingers rather than there is anything wrong with the red silk. Virgil is no expert at these kind of things but he doesn't see any problem with it.

Roman always looks very dashing and handsome and right now is no exception. Not that Virgil is going to voice those thoughts, the last thing Roman needs is him being creepy like that. Whatever this new found land is that they are now inhabiting, it is still very fragile. Virgil won't risk that by some stupid comment about how perfect as always Princey looks.

Virgil also doesn’t know why he has to sound so surprised about it. While he might not be a Prince himself, he is still capable of being the fight as well as the flight. It is part of what he is. He might have been the one beside Thomas every time they decided to run from the bullies screaming his own warped brand of encouragement but he was also the one who was with him on those rare occasions that things had snapped into fight mode, when he had been forced to defend himself. Although in all honesty, normally the switch would flick to fight when a friend was in danger over Thomas himself. The boy loves his friends, possibly loves them too much and while Virgil worries that such feeling is only going to hurt him in the long run he cannot bring himself to whisper such thoughts into Thomas’ mind, to try an place some doubt as to his feelings.

After all, Virgil is guilty of the same thing. He loves the others far more than he should, far more than is sensible or healthy. He would say he loved them far more than himself, but that is hardly a good measuring device, when the thing you are comparing it against is a zero.

For all he knows, his love, while unacknowledged, is part of what inspires Thomas’ own love in turn. Patton is the main cause of course, but Virgil finds himself hoping that he helps too, that some good feeling comes out of hin along with all the dark storm clouds he brings. 

Which is why the doubt and surprise in Roman’s voice still stings, a sharp little flick across his skin, marking an already tender area.

That little voice tries to chime in again, whispering that even after everything was said and done, Roman clearly hadn’t actually believed in Virgil, that he hadn’t thought the villain of yesterday would even bother to save him, not after their past history. No. Not anymore. He isn’t listening to that voice anymore.

At least, not today. 

Tomorrow is another battle, another cliff to scale but tomorrow is a problem for well... tomorrow. Right now he needs to just enjoy this victory. It is so large that Virgil doesn’t feel as though it has properly sunk in. How can something so life changing be understood in the mere seconds he has been granted so far? Now that they are all safe again, all Virgil wants to do is to go back to his room, to the shadows that pull him apart but also know when to leave him alone and to try and pick apart the day in a bid to start to understand. The voices in his room will mock his attempt no doubt but Virgil isn't affected by them in the same way the others were. He doesn’t need to be because his own inner voice takes on that role perfectly well on its own. 

Despite that though, his room is home, it is safety and a place he can shut out the rest of the world. As much as he is beyond thrilled to think that he might have a place outside that room, that he might have... friends, he still needs to process it and to be alone. Virgil feels exhausted. Not just from the interactions with the four of them, but from Remy before and even before that, from everything that had pushed him into trying to duck out. The last day or so is threatening to completely overwhelm him right now and so all Virgil wants is to get away from the situation and back to the solitude of his room. 

That's not all he wants.

It is like a little itch in the back of his mind, a stray through that he can’t seem to shake clear no matter how hard he tries to push it away. They talk amongst themselves and all the while that same thought keeps pressing against him. Thomas is ready to end the video and that right there, is his out. He just needs to keep quiet about that thought which refuses to give him peace for a couple of more moments and then he can finally go back to his room. So long as he keeps quiet, and ignores the heartfelt moment.

“Wait. Oh boy, I’m actually considering it.” The words slip out, Virgil having to press his hands against his face, partly out of embarrassment and he can’t believe he actually said it, lost control like that. It’s also out of nerves, that heavy knot in his chest wanting to reform. What if they don’t like it? What if they hate it? What if they laugh?

No. No, he might be anxious about the idea, but he will see it through. They are better than his darker thoughts give them credit for. He told Remy and the world didn’t end. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he told them. They all knew each other's name after all. Virgil feels himself squirm a little, sweating at the thought of willingly offering them what had to be his biggest secret.

Well. Not his _biggest_ secret really. There was still the origin of his name. More than that, there is still the matter of the headaches and what he does to them all, how he abuses their trust without them ever knowing.

They must never know the truth about the headaches and what he can really do. They have only just accepted him, if they knew it would be worse than before because they would know how much of a freak he really was. They would learn how he had been creeping into their lives and taking without asking, for decades in the case of Thomas. They would hate him again and Virgil already knows he cannot survive being thrust back into the cold once more, not after the merest brush of heat, thawing his fingers.

But his name. He wants to give them his name at last, he can feel it trying to escape from his lips as he dances around the topic, trying to build up the courage to actually open up to them, to willingly show a weak spot and trust that they won't hurt him. Virgil wants to do this, no matter how badly his nerves are jangling, screaming at him not to open up. Opening up to someone only resulted in pain and yet here he was, blurting out his precious name. 

“My name is Virgil! Okay. It’s like a band-aid. You just gotta rip it off.” 

Roman swallows a snigger. Of course he finds the name funny, Virgil deflating a little inside and he presses his fingers against his mouth to help swallow the noise of disappointment. Why would he have ever thought they would react otherwise?

Thomas looks... well he looks delighted to finally have a name. He is reassuring and open, warm and accepting, all the things that Virgil could have legitimately hoped for. There is no spark of recognition however. No hidden memory floating upwards. Thomas still doesn’t remember giving him that name all those years ago.

Virgil isn’t sure why he thought he might. Maybe it was because a miracle has already taken place today with them wanting and accepting him, so what was one more on top of that. Virgil has always been greedy, always wanting more and never being satisfied with what he had. It should have been more than enough, to have Thomas know his name and smile at him but somehow Virgil had been hoping it would stir something within his host and bring to light that memory. 

It stings as well, a little more than Roman's words, the knowledge that after all this time, he still doesn't rank high enough to matter. It is patently unfair as well, Virgil knows it is crazy to expect Thomas to remember one pain filled night, especially when the days that followed were far more important, far more painful because he had hurt himself trying to jump where he shouldn’t. If he remembered anything from that time, it would be that, not a few moments with an imaginary person. Still, as much as he tries to ignore it, he can't quite push away the wish that Thomas remembered. 

Virgil tries not to focus on that and instead on the way they all accept him and his name. Even Roman after his original reaction seems to like it, complimenting him and Virgil doesn’t really know how to handle them being nice to him, the anxious side shifting a little uncomfortably under all the attention.

“You can be a good guy.”

A good... a _good guy_. The words are still echoing in his mind as he sinks out, leaving Thomas in peace and out of everything that could have possibly been said, after every surprise that had piled up and up today, Thomas had come out and said... that. 

He was the bad guy. Even when he played up the role of the villain, Virgil had never really doubted that he was bad. His job was bad, his role was bad and so no matter how much he might want otherwise, he had come to terms with the idea that he would always be considered a bad guy to some degree. Trust Thomas to just casually demolish that.

Virgil really needs some time alone to think about what just happened. 

\--

They each come to him after the main part of the video has ended. Virgil had known they were coming, could tell something was still shifting and churning in Thomas’ mind because despite his host leaving his room, it was still stretched to resemble the living room which meant the cameras were still rolling. Sure enough, each of them popped in briefly for one reason or another, Logan for his book, Roman to try and claim the posters for his own and Patton - 

Well, Patton always had been in a league of his own.

The video is over now, his room reforming back to the comforting dimensions that he knows so well. His bed reappears and as much as this afternoon had meant so much to him, Virgil finds himself hoping that Thomas will not pay another visit to his room anytime soon. It is too dangerous for one and it changes so much for another. For the most part, Virgil does not like change. 

This newest change is something he has wanted for so long now but he still isn’t sure if it will turn out to be a good thing. He wants of course, nothing more than it to be a good thing but there were so many ways in which it could go wrong. Most of those ways are all down to him of course, he will almost certainly say or do something that will remind them all just how annoying and mean he really is. If this crashes and burns around him, Virgil knows he will have nobody to blame but himself, and the gift Patton gave him proves that. 

Virgil can count on one hand the number of presents he has been given over the years. He can count with one finger the number of _good_ presents has has been given.

The card is held loosely in his hands, Virgil barely looking at it. Headphones are discarded on top of his bed, faint music still echoing out from them. He doesn’t need to look at the card to know what it said. Every crayon stroke is etched in turn in his mind, the vivid colours flashing to life in every blink. The half word on the front and the ending inside. 

The picture of the four of them together. The giant heart. The simple but so powerful message that not only were the three of them a family, but that there was actually room within that family for one more. More than there being a space for him, the card seemed to say that he was already in the warmth. He just had to realise it. 

Maybe Virgil was reading too much into the drawing. Then again, from the speed in which Patton had shown up to deliver the card he must have gone right back to his own room and created it there and then - or else he already had it and was just waiting for the chance to give it to him, but that was surely going too far. 

_“Hope to see you soon.”_

Patton had said that. He had smiled warmly as he had done so before sinking out and leaving Virgil with the card and his own thoughts. 

Virgil sat on the edge of his bed - the same spot he had sat on and decided he was done - and chewed nervously on his bottom lip, Patton's parting words looping over and over in his mind. Strange, how often it is Patton’s words that do that to him, make him doubt his personal conviction. They so often do battle with the self hate that swirls around and around in his mind and although they never completely defeat those thoughts, Patton’s words quite often will silence them for a while. 

There was no pressure in Patton's words, no demand that he come out and socialise. At the same time there was no disappointment that Virgil had chosen to just hide in his room after being accepting instead of coming out and completely changing his personality. Patton doesn’t expect him to become an extrovert overnight or ever it seems. There was just the simple hope that he will get to see Virgil soon. Somehow, Virgil knows that if he decides to stay in his room for a week while he mulls over all the latest events, Patton will still be waiting, still be smiling and pleased when he does eventually stick his head out. 

He isn’t going to wait a week. Patton deserves better than that, Virgil nodding to himself and carefully placing the card on pride of place on his bedside table. He takes a few moments to position it correctly, angling it so the inside with the heart will be the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep tonight and hopefully the first thing he sees when he wakes up. 

Virgil shifts back from the table and takes a deep breath. He had decided to try hadn't he? He had promised himself that he would make an effort, would try and keep this from falling to pieces around him. He could handle a little bit more socialising with just Patton.

\--

“Virgil!” 

The booming voice of Roman catches him off guard, the prince in question almost jumping up off the sofa in order to greet him as he passes on his way to the kitchen. Virgil had tried Patton’s room first but there had been no answer to his tentative knock and he had been half tempted to give up there and then. The memory of that smile had prompted him to keep trying though, to keep reaching out for Patton. If he wasn’t in his room, maybe he was cooking something and so Virgil had made his way downstairs. His plans hadn’t included Roman and out of all of them he really hadn’t wanted to see Roman. He has to catch himself, the instinctive reaction to flinch and then snarl, to lash out at Roman before the creative side could say something hurtful first. This isn’t a fight. Roman isn’t going to be cruel anymore, he trusts him with his name for all that it sounds weird hearing him say it. 

Things are different now.

“It is so good to see you again!” Roman tells him eagerly. Virgil tries not to let it get to him, tries not to read too much into the words that are just a fraction too cheery, or a smile that is just a fraction too bright, too brittle to be real. He tries not to think of all the times before this moment he has appeared in a room with Roman and how the other side had reacted to him then but he couldn’t help it. Because there is no way that Roman actually wanted to see him. 

“You literally saw me less than half an hour ago Princey, don't act like you actually missed me,” he mumbles, words slipping out despite himself because he cannot unlearn decades of behaviour in one afternoon, no matter how much Virgil tells himself this isn’t a fight. He can’t help it because Roman is lying, it is clear from the uncomfortable pose he is in, movements stiff and awkward. He had been watching some disney film, the cartoon still playing on the tv, the bright images splashed across the white tunic as Roman stands there, half turned towards him. 

Roman flinches at his words and takes a half step back, Virgil fighting the urge to hide in his hood as a reaction. One conversation into this new world and he was already messing things up, all because he couldn’t stop overthinking every little thing. Roman was probably lying about it being good to see him sure but maybe that wasn’t the point. Lying was wrong but in his own way Roman was just trying to help. Trying too hard of course and Virgil would much rather he be honest than whatever that had been. Still, it had been well meant, just like all those comments he had made earlier today. Roman was trying. 

Virgil really doesn’t want to keep messing this up, he doesn’t want to throw everything to the flames so quickly after it was built. He wants to get along with Roman, he wants to find some middle ground with him. He wants to be able to maybe one day sit in the same room as him and watch some Disney - it seems as if the movie of the night is Mulan. Virgil loves almost every Disney film but he has to admit Mulan is one of his favorites. It’s still early in the film as well, Roman must have just put it on and settled down to watch when Virgil had barged into the room. It would have been easy enough for him to have simply ignored Virgil and carried on watching but no, he had made the effort to greet him in a friendly manner. And Virgil had been rude about it. 

“I... I'm sorry,” he tells him after the silence stretched on for far too long, neither one apparently willing to break it. Virgil lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at it nervously and he had said the hardest word. He could carry on with this. He could try reaching out, building bridges whatever all those stupid self help books said. Patton would be pleased if he tried at least and Virgil likes the idea of that as much as he likes the idea of getting along with Roman. 

Roman's eyes widen in surprise as he looks at him, all puffed up presence dropping away. For the first time since Virgil entered the living room, it feels as though he is actually talking to the real Roman and not the Prince persona he so gleefully throws himself into. He still doesn’t speak though and so Virgil forces himself to carry on, words tripping and stumbling over themselves. 

“I'm not any good at... well, any of this. Talking instead of fighting, knowing how to hold a conversation that isn’t insults or fear related. I didn’t know how to react well, so I reacted badly. I will try and do better.” Virgil bit down on his lip to stop more words spilling out, feeling the familiar tug of humiliation well up inside of him. Great. Just what he had hoped for his first conversation post the video, with one of the other sides. To make a complete and utter fool of himself. His eyes dropped away from Roman to stare intently down at the carpet as though it held the answer to all of life’s great questions. 

“Yes well... I suppose that's partly our fault isn't it,” Roman replies after a long moment. This time it is Virgil's turn to stare at him, eyes snapping back up to meet Roman’s apparently serene gaze, mouth dropping open in undisguised shock. Would the surprises of this day never end? Roman gives him a small smile that was really little more than a flick of lips at the edges before he sighs softly. He looks... uncharacteristically sad in this moment, seeming to shrink a little into himself. 

“I. What?” Virgil must have misheard him. That was the only explanation. There was no way Roman was blaming himself, it made no sense. It was Virgil’s fault he was the way he was, it was Virgil’s choices and anger that had led to him becoming the antisocial introvert he was today. “It’s not your fault Roman, don’t be daft.” 

Roman shakes his head seriously, taking that half step back towards him. All Virgil could do was stand there, not even having the sense to back up in turn, letting him come right into his personal space. 

“We let you pull away and we, well I at least, never even tried to hold on. I was too caught up in my own things to even think about making an effort to work out what was going on with you. You just left us one day and I know we fought but you vanished for so long only to return... different. I never even asked why, just let you do your own thing, let you live down there with the others.” Roman sighed heavily, another shake of his head as he remembered those days. “And then you started coming around again and I instantly started fighting with you, without even giving you a chance to explain why you had changed so much, what had prompted you to apparently hate us.” 

Virgil can’t help but frown a little at that. Had Patton never told him what had happened after the fight? Never once admitted how he had grounded Anxiety, told him to go away, to find his own little corner to grow up in? Maybe he had been ashamed. Or he was being a good dad and was trying to protect the other two from the truth for their own good. There had to be a reason why Patton had kept quiet. 

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the change in Roman’s expression, the way it shifted from serious to determined as a thought occurred to him and a choice was made. 

“But I promise you this!” Roman declared suddenly, grabbing his hand and clasping it between both of his own. All thoughts of the past fled Virgil’s mind as they stood there, his whole body frozen. He should pull away but his tratious limbs refused to work and all he could do was stand there and let Roman hold his hand. “We are never going to abandon you like that again. No matter what Virgil, I swear to you, you are never going to be alone again.”

Virgil can feel his face grow hotter and hotter, blushing like some ridiculous character out of one of Roman’s stories. Then again this whole thing feels faintly ridiculous, Roman being his usual over dramatic self, only this time he wasn’t shouting threats or waving a sword in Virgil’s direction but was instead making some kind of vow. It sounds as much as a threat as a promise or compliment, or whatever it is that he actually meant. Virgil has no doubt that Roman means every single word he is saying - right now at least, who knows if he will still believe it after a couple of days of actually getting to know Virgil.

“What... ever,” Virgil manages to stammer out at last, belatedly pulling his hand free. Roman lets him without comment, looking annoyingly pleased with himself as he does. The creative side claps his hands together lightly after a couple of moments, head tilting a little to nod towards the television. 

“Did you want to watch the rest of the movie with me?” 

Virgil’s eyes flicker over to the television where Mulan was still playing. He has to admit, the thought of watching the movie is very tempting. Especially when he had just been thinking how that would be perfect. It would mean spending more time with Roman though and while this conversation had somehow managed to be saved and so turn out much better than he had expected, Virgil doesn’t know if he could handle so much energy and excitement. 

The calming presence of Patton is one thing, he trusts Patton enough to know that he will not be pushed out of his comfort zone. Roman is still very much an unknown element and what he does know tells him that Roman is high maintenance. Extra to the extreme and while Virgil might not want to change that, it still feels like more than he can handle.

“I was, uh, looking for Patton actually.”

“Oh he’s helping Thomas cook his own meal tonight,” Roman explained, giving Virgil a look that is somewhere between expectant and a puppy that is waiting to be kicked. It makes him feel even worse about the fact that he feels unable to watch the movie, that awkwardness slipping back into the air around them, the feeling that Roman is trying just too hard and attempting to force something before it is ready. Not that Virgil is any better, if things were left to him he would do the exact opposite. Neither approach on their own would work. 

“So... movie?” Roman asks again. 

“Right. Um. Maybe next time?” Virgil is worn thin as it is. Roman is just so loud and he isn’t sure his nerves can take a whole movie with him. At least, not right now. He needs to build up to that. Virgil wants to build up to that and for the first time he feels almost... optimistic about the future, about what it might bring. He can imagine tomorrow and not feel depressed or angry. Instead he finds himself hoping Roman will ask him another night, when he is more mentally prepared. 

Was it his imagination or did Roman almost look a little sorrowful at his refusal? He didn’t press it though, Virgil unsure if it was because he was trying to respect Virgil’s wishes or if he was just glad he didn’t have to sit through a movie pretending and playing nice with him. Before today, he would have thought it was the later without question, wouldn’t even have thought of the other idea, let alone considered it. That was before. 

Everything is different now. This new world his attempted ducking out had created was full of uncertainties, enough to make his head spin. He doesn’t know the rules for anything here yet. 

“If you change your mind I’m planning to have a Disney marathon so I’ll be here,” Roman tells him after a pause. Virgil nods. He won’t change his mind, he knows this but it's nice to think that Roman would be willing to offer this to him at all, to try and find some common ground with him. 

“Thank you Roman.” For more than the invitation. Virgil isn’t ready to gush out more of his feelings just yet, he isn’t ready to even verbally admit that he has them. He still feels grateful however, fingers lifting in his usual two fingered salute as he sinks out of the room and back to the safety of his bedroom. 

\--

The familiar whooshing sound of a side popping up in his room has him looking up from the laptop where he has been mindlessly scrolling, wrapped up in a blanket. Virgil isn’t really sure how much time has passed since his conversation with Roman. Long enough for Thomas to finish cooking at least because Patton is standing there.

“Hello Kiddo!” Patton greets him with his usual bright smile, the one that has always made Virgil want to smile a little in response. His fingers twitch, that urge to slap his hand across his face risi- no, he isn’t listening to that influence anymore. He is allowed to smile in front of them now. “Roman tells me you were looking for me earlier?”

Of course Roman would tell him. He was just trying to be helpful of course, it wasn’t spite that had made him tell Patton, but he had given up on the idea of spending any time with someone. Virgil had switched off, lost himself in his own thoughts and as a result he felt woefully under prepared for any interactions, even ones with Morality. 

“Oh it doesn’t matter Patton, sorry to bother you,” Virgil tells him, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. He is tired, although his brain will not allow him to rest. It is too wound up to let him be that lucky. Virgil just wants to mindlessly sit in front of his laptop until eventually his mind blue screens and he passes out from sheer exhaustion. It isn’t the healthiest coping mechanism but it has worked well for him up until this point. 

“You are no bother Virgil, what did you need?” Patton looks so earnest as he speaks. How can Virgil possibly refuse him when he is looking at him with such simple faith and truth. Brown eyes dip down to stare at his screen without actually taking any notice of the various gifs and artwork that was on his tumblr dashboard. 

“I just... I thought... I was thinking about what you said. About seeing.. And I. Well I...” Virgil stammers, his tongue betraying him as it so often does. Now that he is faced with Patton, he finds that he doesn’t really have a thought out plan for what to say to him, and he doesn’t know how to ask without sounding stupid. In fact, Virgil doesn’t really know exactly what he wanted aside from trying to prove to Patton that he wanted to try and make an effort. That he wanted to be seen. 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Patton tells him gently, Virgil snapping his mouth shut with relief. "Why don’t you and I go to my room for a movie? Just the two of us?”

Some of the tension drains out of Virgil at that, Virgil feeling his shoulders slump in relief. That sounds... well, pretty perfect actually. Patton won’t expect him to talk or really interact but he gets to be with someone. It’s good practise. He won’t have to face Roman either, won’t have to see his betrayed face at the knowledge Virgil turned down his offer but accepted Patton’s identical one. It isn’t as though he picked Patton over Roman, not really and it’s not that he wants to avoid Roman for any bad reason, he realises with a start. It's more he doesn’t want to upset him. He doesn’t want to hurt Roman because of Virgil’s own weakness. He just... can only handle so much. 

Blanket remains wrapped around his shoulders like some purple fleece cape, Virgil shuffling along the corridor after Patton. The dim hum of the television from down the stairs tells him that Roman is still watching his own movies, the soft noise vaguely comforting as the door opens and he steps over the threshold, into Morality’s realm. 

He hasn’t been in Patton’s room unless it is when Patton is suffering from a headache. He has to admit, it is nice to be here without some other motive in mind. It is even better to be in here and know that he isn’t going to be in pain by the end of it. 

Patton waves him towards the large bed set against the wall, turning away to set up his laptop, a soft and gentle hum slipping from his lips as he gets everything ready. Virgil doesn’t want to get in the way despite wanting to help and so he settles himself on the bed, hand still firmly gripping the blanket closed around his chest, eyes following Patton’s every move as if he might suddenly disappear on him. 

“What do you say kiddo? Wanna let your old man whip up some freshly made popcorn for us both while you pick what we watch?” Patton offers kindly. He settles on the bed a foot or two away from him, even now letting him have his space if he wants it. Popcorn sounds nice but that isn’t the thing that has caught his attention. It’s Patton’s use of the term ‘old man’. 

Virgil looks at him and considers asking him what changed. He wants to know why he is calling himself or why he had never told Roman about their talk all those years ago. He internally debates with himself as to if he going to call Patton out on using that term. They have to talk about what happened one day because Virgil cannot keep torturing himself with the memories of what happened. Especially if he is now officially part of the family. He will talk to Patton about it all. 

Just not tonight. 

Tonight he wants to be warm and comfortable and dare he even think it, liked, maybe even loved. He wants to bask in these emotions, these feelings so freely given to him after so long of being nothing but a spooky, mean creature they had to put up with. Tonight he just wants to be Virgil without any of the bad that his job forces him to do. Tonight he wants to just let Patton be his dad and forget about the past. 

He doesn’t realise for a few seconds that his whole body is shaking, every inch of him overwhelmed by what is happening, his gaze going fuzzy, because he is actually _wanted_ and _accepted_ and most of all, _loved_.

“Virgil?” Patton asks, voice a hushed whisper. “Are you okay?”

The world comes back into sharp focus with a crack those words, Virgil flinching as though they had been shouted instead of whispered. Patton has shifted slightly closer, turned towards him, one hand lifted as though to reach out although he has stopped shy of actually making physical contact. 

Virgil’s eyes shift rapidly between Patton’s face and his hand. His heart is going a hundred miles an hour as though he is suffering from a panic attack but this doesn’t feel like any attack he has had in the past. The energy that is building up and building up in him is nervous yes but it isn’t the sort that makes him want to cry and scream. It makes him want... it makes him want... well, Virgil doesn’t know exactly what he wants. 

All he knows of sure is that he is feeling far too much right now and Virgil doesn’t know how to handle it, all the warmth that is spreading across his body at the thought of want, need, accept, family, love. He needs to separate himself from it, needs to put a little distance between himself and whatever this is, build a wall to keep it all contained but his normal tactics of denial and avoidance are hard to implement when Patton is right there. He could have faded away, could have been lost forever without feeling this, without ever knowing that the others actually cared about him. He could have left Thomas all alone without anyone to watch out for him, could have condemned him to a life that was too free of care. He might never have heard how his name sounded coming from their lips and Virgil had almost forgotten what it was like to hear someone else say it.

“Is it okay to touch you?” Patton asks him carefully. Virgil nods, his voice refusing to work at the moment. Thankfully, a nod is all that Patton seems to need, his hand finally closing that short distance between them, his hand resting against Virgil’s shoulder. It feels as though Patton’s hand is on fire, the heat radiating from it making him gasp and shudder a little. What is wrong with him? He doesn’t understand, and the question must be clearly written across his face because Patton gives him another reassuring smile, the one that Virgil instinctively wants to believe and trust. 

“You’re doing great kiddo. Everything that happened is just... hitting you, you just keep going, keep breathing through it, don’t push it away.” 

Virgil doesn’t think he could push it away even if he tries. The high waves that are his emotions crash against the walls, each one battering against the barrier, cracks appearing throughout as he tries to draw in another ragged breath. Drawing in air also brings in the scents of everything around him, that strange mix of cinnamon and pine needles that he has always associated with Patton, that warmth and safety that only Dad can provide. 

Patton’s hand is still there, heat spinning from it and Virgil can’t help but lean ever so slightly into it, as though hungry for more despite the fact that what he is feeling right now is more than he can handle. It is all too much and he didn’t expect love to feel so intense, to almost burn him but he welcomes the flames, presses for more of what seems to be capable of destroying him.

“Can I hug you?”

All the walls he has built crumble and vanish away at that, Virgil feeling himself shake more violently, the emotions he is feeling rushing through him like a raging river now and he is swept away helplessly by the speed of it. He still can’t bring himself to answer verbally, simply nodding once more and hiding his face against Patton’s shoulder as the other side draws him in for the hug. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Virgil is aware he is making a weird sound, some kind of keening cry into Patton’s cardigan that is as always, tied around him. If he had any energy left, Virgil might have been embarrassed by his loss of control but it is hard to feel bad when he is being held and hugged so. Patton hums again, rocking them both slightly as Virgil curls into the embrace, all thoughts and worries fleeing his mind.

This is... _good_. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe what he is feeling, the mix of warmth coming from Patton’s arms wrapped around him and the warmth that is growing inside of him, born out of the acceptance the other three have offered him so readily. 

He doesn’t know how to hug back or to control the noise that is still pitched high and slipping free from his mouth. He doesn’t know how to say he is happy, not sad. Maybe that doesn’t really matter though. Virgil feels as though Patton and the rest will be willing to teach him, that Patton at least understands his emotions better than Virgil can right now. Patton understands that he isn’t sad, not really. 

“It’s okay kiddo, it’s okay. Everything is going to be better now.”

It’s a dad promise and Patton has no way of actually keeping it. There are still so many ways in which this can go wrong of course, so maybe wobbles and he has nearly ruined it so many times already. For all of that and despite his own natural tendency to distrust everything, Virgil makes the conscious choice to believe Patton in this, letting his body relax and sink further into the warm embrace. Virgil closes his eyes and lets his world become nothing but the sensation of Patton holding him. The warmth, the smell, the comforting sound of snatches of an old lullaby that Thomas’ mother used to sing on nights when it stormed and the shadows were even longer and scarier than normal. Of course Patton would know that particular song soothed him, it always had. 

“Welcome home, Virgil.”


	22. Tracing one warm line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The thoughts and self doubt come back, as he had known they would. The voices are not denied their prey so easily and they have been feeding on him for so long. Virgil knew they would not give him up without a fight. He tries not to listen, tries to hold onto the hug that Patton had given him, or the cookies they had baked together one afternoon. He tries to hold onto the morning where he and Logan had simply read together in silent comfortable company.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Things are different now. He is different now. He has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look I’m updating this again! November was a bit of a weird month for me, but here we go. I am always constantly blown away by the wonderful comments you guys leave me, it really keeps me going. (and hey, I have other stories in this fandom if you’re interested, plug, plug, plug.) Who is ready for a little bit of calm for a while, let Virgil catch his breath after everything that has happened? 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Northwest Passage_ by **Stan Rogers**. And it should be Canada’s National Anthem.

** **

### Tracing one warm line

** **

Things are weird in the mind now. Virgil isn’t sure if weird means bad, at least not exactly. Just, different. A different that he is still struggling to understand, but that's okay because he knows he isn’t alone in this. The other three are all trying to understand the changes as well. They are all finding their way, piece by piece and step by step. Not only are they working but they are working _together_ and that makes all the difference.

He is spending a little more time outside of his room now than before.

They welcome his company, making space for him in their lives beyond the breakfasts they share or any time Thomas needs them all. It’s strange sometimes, to wander into the living room and see Roman sitting there, or Logan or Patton. Virgil always has a moment of dizzying vertigo, where two realities spin around his mind at the same time and he has to remind himself that it is okay now. He is allowed to be here, he is welcome here and there isn’t going to be any hurtful, nasty comment. 

At least, not always. Things don’t magically turn into puppies and rainbows. Virgil is still Anxiety, still the same little broken boy he has always been and no matter how badly he tries, he still has bad days, when he snaps and snarls and probably hurts Thomas more than he wants. Virgil hates who he is even more now because he doesn’t want to be the bad guy. Trying to work out the balancing act he has to do between not being there are all, and being too much is exhausting. 

He and Roman still fight, each pulling in opposite directions and the nicknames eventually return. Sometimes, he thinks they aren’t said with the same hate as before. Sometimes he thinks they are said with even more hate. Virgil can’t tell the difference anymore. 

Virgil can’t help but worry they will hate him again on the days he stops Thomas from doing something potentially dangerous but very stupid. Like the moment a random stranger had called and asked if he had time to answer a few personal questions for some random company whose name had gone right over Thomas’ head. What if it was some trick to get personal information out of him in order to rob, kidnap or murder him? What if it was secretly some obsessed fan instead who was going to share on the internet everything Thomas said? 

Forcing Thomas to hang up with a yelp had been the only possible response to such a thing, despite Logan’s howl of protest. 

Still, so far, they haven’t grown tired of him. So far. 

Is this how it will always be? Always tip toeing on eggshells around each other, often holding himself back out of a different kind of fear than before? Hating himself each time he does his job and keeps Thomas safe? Virgil forces himself to apologise each and every time he pushes, despite feeling that he has to do that because it's his job. The fear of being rejected again grows with each passing day, as he lets himself break one of his oldest rules. He lets himself get closer to them even at the risk of them hurting him.

The thoughts and self doubt come back, as he had known they would. The voices are not denied their prey so easily and they have been feeding on him for so long. Virgil knew they would not give him up without a fight. He tries not to listen, tries to hold onto the hug that Patton had given him, or the cookies they had baked together one afternoon. He tries to hold onto the morning where he and Logan had simply read together in silent comfortable company. Or the evening where Roman had requested he look over some scripts with him. Honestly it seemed just an excuse for him to act, Roman taking on every character in the plays he created. They go back to the natural stage the creative side had created within the Imagination, a place he admits he likes a lot, a place that Roman visits whenever he wants to practise or just relax. 

He is making an effort, Virgil knows this. He is sharing a personal, special place with his enemy of yesterday. Virgil is more than content to curl up on the giant bean bag that had been created for him, and let Roman act out his own little ego play with him applauding when needed. 

Virgil has to admit, Roman isn’t that bad when his attention is properly focused and he is doing what he loves. There is a glow about him, a burst of energy and joy that is almost contagious. If it was anyone else watching, they probably would be swept up in it but he is still Virgil, still prone to overthinking everything. Getting caught up in joyus flights of fantasy and moods is just not his style, as much as he would like to just relax and let things go once in a while. He feels comfortable enough to sit and enjoy the company, which is an amazing improvement on how things used to be. 

It helps that he isn’t making overly grand ridiculous gestures towards the anxious side. He isn’t pushing before Virgil is ready. Still, some part of Virgil doubts he will ever be ready and there is that low level worry that presses against the back of his mind. What happens when Roman grows bored of being patient?

Then Roman is prancing around the stage again, singing and his worries fade from his mind and all he can think about is the moment. 

Once or twice Roman stops whatever scene he was acting out and had simply looked at Virgil. Staring in fact, as though seeking out some answer to a question he has yet to ask. Perhaps he was hoping that Virgil would somehow magically know what he wanted to ask and just to it. The thought sets the hairs on the back of his neck on end, the worry that he is meant to be doing something right now. Virgil has no idea what it is that Roman wants to ask. Social interactions are far more confusing, exhausting and at times downright chilling now that he is actually having to do them himself. They were bad enough when he was shouting at Thomas from the sidelines but this - he doesn’t understand how people can do this all the time and still have any energy left over for themselves. He hates feeling like he is letting the other side down somehow, that he isn’t doing his part to try and make this work between them all.

Roman always seemed on the verge of that question, whatever it actually was, before looking back down at the script, giving a soft little cough and then launching back into the play or song of the day. Sometimes, in those moments, Virgil could have sworn he saw the faintest tint of pale pink rising in Roman’s cheeks, the lightest dustings of a blush. They never speak about those almost moments. Virgil can't imagine what is going on in Roman’s head and so he simply clings to the faint flicker of faith that whatever it is, it isn’t terrible. Roman never seems mad at him and perhaps in time, he will tell Virgil whatever it is he wants.

After all, Virgil knows he will do it, he is far too weak when it comes to the people he loves. 

He starts hanging out with Remy a lot more again, although more often than not they end up flopped on Remy’s bed together, asleep in a pile that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. It is the best sleep he ever has because it comes without dreams - without nightmares. 

Dreams are Remy and Roman’s domain. They both influence them on different levels and the type of control they have varies from night to night although neither can create them, cannot decide that Thomas or a side is having a good dream that night. Or a bad one.

It helps, to hear Remy say that, for Virgil to know that Roman never sent him a nightmare to torment him. It had always lurked in the back of his mind, one of the countless what ifs that swam around his mind. He hadn’t realised how badly that thought scared and hurt him, until Remy was explaining how it was impossible. It meant of course that all the nightmares he has suffered from throughout his life are his fault and his fault alone. Most things are to be fair.

In Remy's bed though, he could stop dreams from ever reaching him. Virgil can relax, can rest.

The voices still whisper of course, fighting him every painful step of the way. Hissing and spitting what he had always believed to be the truth. He still finds himself listening to them sometimes. Maybe they are just putting up with Virgil because they saw the terrible mess Thomas made of his life without any anxiety at all and figured if they were nice to him he would stay and he would be easier to deal with if they pretended to be his friends. 

Maybe Virgil is just over thinking this and he really wants his mind to shut up now and then. 

He still isn’t ready for any big group activity. Patton has suggested a game night once or twice and each time he has refused. He is happiest seeing all three of them at breakfast and then an hour or two of solo socializing a day and letting his own batteries recharge the rest of the time. It is so hard, to go from just half an hour to all of that, and different people with different goal and ideas of how to spend time. So he refuses and Patton never pushes the issue although he always looks sad at the no. 

Virgil curls up on his bed and reminds himself that he chose this. He picked to be alone when they offered him company, when they would have welcomed him into those nights he has watched and wanted to be apart of for so long now. That is what hurts the most, remembering all the nights he hid at the top of the stairs and watched them play, remembering the bitter longing to be allowed to be in that charmed circle. They offer it to him now and he turns away because he still has doubts despite them doing nothing to deserve his mistrust. 

Maybe one day. 

When things are less weird. If they ever become less weird of course. Around here, who even knew.

\--

Thomas wants to dye his hair. 

He has wanted to for quite a while now in fact, Virgil having promptly and ruthlessly squashed down the idea every time it floated up from whichever subconscious desire was creating it. Didn’t Thomas realise how foolhardy that was? The last thing Thomas needed was to be... different in yet another way. He already stands out so much as it is and as much as Virgil loves Thomas and is so proud of him for how far he has come, there are times when he wishes that his host wasn’t quite so independent. It sat oddly with how powerful Anxiety had become. It means he has to deal with ridiculous things like Thomas wanting to dye his hair more often than not. 

Virgil just doesn’t want Thomas to get hurt that's all. That is why he always floods his mind with panic or fear, with dramatic ideas of all the terrible ways in which things could go wrong. Thomas might take one look at in the mirror and realise he had made a terrible mistake, that he hated it. Everyone he knew, might lie and say it was fine, but really, they hated it too. The fans could hate it. He owns so few clothes to start with, what if he had to colour match with his hair and everything clashed? The colour might not take properly and there are so many stories online of people who had tried to dye their hair one colour and had come out with some hideous shade instead, some yellow or green that you couldn't pretend was anything other than a hair dye disaster.

He could have one of those terrible allergic reactions to the dye, the type that can make you seriously ill at best and dead at worst. Even if you dye your hair fine twenty times before, you can still develop that reaction and the twenty-first time is the time that kills you. There is no protection against such a thing and how could he let Thomas do something that might see him dead? Virgil is doing his job correctly, whenever he manages to turn Thomas away from the idea and onto anything else, something to distract him. Then there is some peace and quiet but always, sooner or later the mind twists back to the same subject and Virgil is confronted by the same problem.

Thomas wants to dye his hair again. 

Virgil can feel the whispers coursing through his mind, Thomas scrolling through tumblr and stopping at a post about men and dyed hair. He can feel the distant longing as he flicks through the various photos, feel that familiar dissatisfaction with the brown hair that is perfectly fine - but bores him a little and doesn't really express who he is.

He wraps the blanket around him tighter, snuggling into it as though he could physically hide away and thus avoid the choice that is looming over the anxious side like some... giant... looming... thing.

Creativity was not his department.

Either way, Virgil knows he needs to make a choice. To do as he always did and flood Thomas with enough adrenaline to really get his blood pumping, enough so he pushes aside such a silly idea and distracts himself with something else.

Or to take a chance and run the risk of Thomas getting hurt or upset. It might end well though. The chance is slim but it is there, the thought that maybe Thomas will like the hair colour, maybe everyone else will like it, maybe they won’t... die? That would be good. If they didn’t die. If Virgil eased up a little like he claimed he wants to, and let his host do this. 

Logan is getting a headache from the idea as well. Logan hates the idea of dying hair almost as much as Virgil does, albeit for different reasons. It doesn't fit into any of the neat little boxes that Logan has on how they should dress and act. Coloured hair will not grant them any advantage in their job, it will merely distract them for an afternoon that could be spent on a more productive passtime. It will not help them look more serious. If done correctly however, it will not cause any harm to Thomas’ wellbeing and so, he shouldn’t be opposed to it. 

The headache is partly born out of the stress Logan is feeling for trying to understand something using the wrong language. There is no logical reason as to why Thomas wants different coloured hair but that doesn’t change the fact that it _is_ something their host wants. 

The headache, at least Virgil can fix, easily reaching out mentally to drain away the pain, taking it on in his place. Virgil has become so used to his head hurting that it has become almost second nature at this point to do his job while hurting. Hiding away the pain each and every time. It wouldn’t do for any of the others to see he was in pain. They would ask questions now, they would attempt to care. If he wasn’t careful they might start to wonder why he had headaches when their own would vanish within minutes of it blossoming. They might work it out. 

The familiar panic rises up inside of him, that ever present fear that they might work it out and realise what he has been doing. They might call him a freak or worst, they might- his mind has been over this before. He has tortured himself with these worries so many times now, forever twisting and turning, a rat in a maze of his own making. With no way out, because the options are to either tell them and accept the consequences, or stop protecting them and let them all suffer.

Virgil refuses to do either of those and so he has to endure the fear of all the possibilities. It was the way things were supposed to work after all. Virgil’s _whole point_ of existing was to take the pain, the punishment so that the others didn’t have to. What was his purpose if not to carry these kind of burdens himself? 

They aren’t going to find out. Not if he keeps himself hidden away, physically if he can and mentally otherwise. Push down the pain into a dark little corner of his own mind where they can’t see it. Virgil has had plenty of practise with acting as though he doesn’t feel pain after all. Plus, at the end of the day, it is more useful for Thomas to have his logic fully functioning to keep him from making mistakes over an anxiety that is terrified of the thought of all the chemicals they are having dumped on their head. Logan will understand all the scientific names, the properties and the correct quantities. 

Virgil knows that he won’t be able to keep calm without Logan. It’s an easy enough choice to make, tugging softly on that connection he has created between them, expertly pulling the headache until the growing pain is like a knife at the front of his skull but at least Logan was okay now. It hurts more than he had expected it to, a blade biting deep and making him whimper softly. 

That settles it. He isn’t going to interfere with the hair dye. If Thomas wants to do it... he can. Virgil is going to hide in his room until both that and this headache are over. He will still be there in part, he will let his influence affect Thomas without physically manifesting. Virgil has learnt that lesson, he will never abandon his host again. The rest are going to be busy with Thomas anyway, they won’t even notice he isn’t here. Virgil is going to let go. Just a fraction, just enough to let Thomas finally have this. 

No matter how terrible it could turn out. 

It might turn out okay in the end. Stranger things, after all, have happened. Virgil closes his eyes and breathes out. He can do this. He hadn’t been joking in the last video when he admitted he felt as though he had been keeping Thomas from doing anything at all. 

There was so much he couldn’t fix, couldn’t change. There were countless invitations that couldn’t be retroactively accepted, countless events and meeting up with friends that had slipped by, never to be recovered all thanks to Virgil screaming non stop. This was something he could change however, he could swallow down his own panic and fear about how it could go wrong and let Thomas dye his hair like he wants.

Baby steps. That was what he needs to do. Any progress was good right? He knows the others are trying to let him in more, are trying to listen to his concerns instead of instantly dismissing. The least he can do is show that he truly wants to change. He does after all. Virgil wants to do better, wants to relearn the social cues that let him know when a situation is going bad and when it's going okay, rather than just automatically defaulting to the worst possible scenario. 

This is something small and fairly innocuous. A professional is going to do the hair so that will lessen the chances of anything terrible happening and Logan will be there to walk Thomas through all the facts and the statistically low probability of death or disfigurement. Still, there is a chance and while the odds of dying in a plane crash for example are somewhere in the realm of one in eleven million, there is still always going to be that _one_. Someone has to be the one in eleven million. And the chance of dying from hair dye is a lot higher than that. 

That probably wasn’t the best thing to think.

He curls deeper into the blankets, shoving a pillow over his head as though he could physically block out all his own intrusive thoughts along with the light. It’s a fairly feeble hope but it is all that Virgil has right now. As always, he has barely slept for days and is perpetually tired. Maybe he can get a little sleep in despite himself, with sheer exhaustion overwhelming his nerves. The headache might even help, it will keep him in bed for the duration of the appointment and so out of contention. 

Dimly, he feels Thomas come to his choice, picking up his wallet and heading for the door. So they really are going to dye their hair. He doesn’t want to know the details. Knowing any details is just going to make his own anxiety rocket and if he loses the tentative control he has, then Thomas would panic and the whole day out would be ruined. 

Virgil trusts the rest to see to it and anyway, it isn't like Thomas is going to do something crazy.


	23. Cry to the blue corn moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The spotlight isn’t... quite as bad as he had thought. He still hates it, but they are actually trying to be nice to him, trying to help him find out where he belongs. With nobody being mean to him, being the centre of attention was a completely different experience this time to any he had felt before. It’s fascinating to see how the different aspects of the houses can be twisted to fit most of them. For Roman to be a Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff depending on which way the lens was tilted and shine is no mean feat. Virgil can’t help but notice despite that however, that none of the houses seem to fit him.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Red, blue, yellow, indigo, green, purple... Hogwarts houses aren’t the only colours around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent chapter lengths? Who's she? Never heard of her. Bumper length chapter for you guys today, so settle in for a bit of a roller coaster. This chapter was very nearly a disaster but I think I managed to save it and I have only minor regrets with the ending. In case I don’t update again before Christmas, Happy Holidays everyone!
> 
> Video covered is, of course **Fitting In (Hogwarts Houses.)** All dialogue from it belong to Thomas and co. Chapter title comes from _Colours of the wind_ from **Pocahontas** , sung by **Vanessa Williams**.
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

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### **Cry to the blue corn moon**

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**

Virgil is jolted awake from his fitful sleep by a powerful surge of anxiety. He is bolt upright in seconds, barely noticing that the headache has thankfully faded in the couple of hours he has managed to doze. His heart is racing, blood pumping as adrenaline burns through him. The blankets that had once been a comforting weight now feel like chains dragging him down and trapping him in place. They wrap around him, restraining him as he frantically thrashes in his bed, trying to break free, his mind screaming that he needs to _run_ , he needs to _move_.

Something has gone terribly wrong. 

He can't breathe. His lungs refuse to work, frozen in place as his mind screams at him, a dozen different thoughts assaulting his mind all at once. He _is_ the panic, the fear, he is every negative thought that Thomas has ever had, all the bad energy rushing through him, invading him. Virgil can feel it building and building, wanting to completely take over. He could trigger the biggest panic attack if he lets it take over and some part of him wants to just give in to it and do exactly that. 

He is making it worse.

What Virgil needs to actually do, is calm down. He knows he needs to calm down but knowing is far removed from the reality of actually being able to do so. 

The first attempt at a deep breath goes horribly wrong, air catching in his throat and suddenly he is bent over, coughing and spluttering, hand clawing at his neck as he tries to not choke himself to oblivion. He needs to calm down. Thomas needs him. _Thomas_. Virgil is better than this. He has to be better than this, after everything Thomas has done for him. 

Virgil breathes in again, yelling the numbers in his mind, breath stuttering a little. He can’t hold it for the correct about of time, air escaping in a soft gasp. Again. Try again. Virgil draws it in easier this time, holding it before letting it go out in one great gushing breath. Again. And again, it is easier, Virgil feeling a little bit of his own self control slip back with every held breath.

Only after he has clawed and dragged himself out of the pit of his own making, does Virgil even acknowledge the fear, letting it sink in a little, just enough for him to start to pull it apart in a bid to understand it. Only after he has understood it, can he ever hope to do anything with it. Now... what is this terror about?

Oh god, the hair dye. 

It went wrong. It has to have gone wrong, somehow it went wrong. He can’t focus enough to get a good reading on exactly why but Thomas is panicking and that makes Virgil want to panic as well, his hard earned control slipping a little, the world suddenly made of ice and a single misstep would be enough to have him skidding from one extreme to the other. He breathes in. This is for Thomas, Virgil reminds himself. If he can do this, if he can keep his host calm then it will prove that he is capable of going his job properly. 

No... wait. This wasn’t just his own anxiety or even Thomas’ that he was feeling. This was... someone else? Someone else was nervous and anxious, worried, scared even. It has to be truly intense for Virgil to be able to even feel it, normal levels of anxiety within the others are their own feelings. He doesn't understand what is going on and while that is a fairly normal state of affairs for Virgil. Right now, he cannot indulge in such ignorance. Someone is suffering, and nothing else matters other than working out how to help.

The feelings of anxiousness increase. It’s easier to cope with them now that he knows they are coming from within the mind, now that he is awake and able to combat them, trying to pick his and Thomas’ feelings apart and separate them all so he can focus on whichever side is scared. Virgil is able to breathe through the pain now, to carefully finish untangling himself from blankets that have wrapped themselves multiple times around him. His mindless struggles had probably only made it worse, just like everything he does in his l- no, Virgil cannot let those thoughts in any further. Not when he has a mission. A reason.

With a slow, deliberate step, Virgil makes his way across his messy room and towards the door leading to the rest of the mind. Just as he opens his door a scream sounds out across the hallway, low and anguished, a howl more than anything else, a low murmur of another voice, pitched too soft for him to really know who but that is important, not compared to the clear pain he could make out in the louder noise. 

Logan. 

They might all have the same base voice, but each side has found their own unique little twist to it. Their own quirk that makes them instantly recognizable and even as a noise of horror, he can tell which side it came from. That was where the increased levels of anxiety, panic, fear, fear, fear is pulsing from, Virgil having to cling to the door in an effort to stay upright, the sudden surge of adrenaline making him feel giddy and lightheaded. Out of everyone, why would it be Logan? 

It’s to do with Thomas’ hair of course.

Virgil turned away from the exit, stumbling back through the organised chaos that was his room and to the bathroom and mirror. He needed to see what the hairdresser has done to them all. Virgil doesn't want to, not at all, but he knows that he really needs to. No matter how awful it might be - what if Thomas had a bad reaction to the dye and they are _bald?_

No, if that was the case then Logan surely wouldn't care. Roman might, but they all greatly admire and respect Sir Patrick Stewart and he has been bald since his youth. True, it takes a certain type of man to be able to pull that look off but if anyone can do it, he has faith Thomas would be able to. 

They can’t be bald. For one thing, he can feel hair on his head, as soft as it always was. If he wants, he could pull down the bangs to properly cover his eyes, could probably work out just what is different now but Virgil cannot trust a look that would be slightly out of focus and just part of a fringe. It won’t show him the whole picture and so he knows he needs to look in a mirror. 

He is just trying to delay the inevitable, Virgil knows this. Being well aware of his own avoidance tactics doesn’t seem to help him in overcoming them. His mind is racing, all these different thoughts and directions yelling at him, his mind stuck in a loop, going over the same handful of thoughts over and over again. As though he might come up with some answer or a better conclusion if he keeps letting the same few ideas spin round and round in his mind. 

Something terrible has clearly happened but why aren’t Patton or Roman affected? More to the point, why isn’t Thomas? Virgil can feel his host and yes, there is a little bit of nerves, the usual level that he would expect from the constantly anxious young man that is his host. It is magnified slightly by the fit Logan seems to be throwing but it certainly isn’t as much as Virgil would have expected if there was something terrible happening. 

Then again, Logan as logic and Thomas as... everything Thomas was, had wildly varying ideas of what counted as important and thus what might be considered terrible or not. Virgil tended to side with Logan in those situations but that didn’t really mean much in itself - as far as he was concerned everything could be terrible after all. It doesn’t tell him one way or another which he should believe and where he should fall in his own views. The only way to decide that, will be to actually look himself. As simple and as inescapable as that. 

Swallowing heavily, Virgil takes a moment to practise his breathing once more, just trying to keep himself calm. The unknown is a lot more scary because it is filled with countless possibilities. Most of which will never come true, but there is always that slim chance. Always that nagging worry, what if this time, is the time when all his nightmares come true? Far more likely, what if this time is just another example of Virgil overrating? Along with the rare example of _Logan_ overrating. 

With a growl of frustration, annoyed at himself and his cowardly behavior, Virgil lunges to the side, flicking the light on and spinning to stare into the bathroom mirror in one smooth motion. Seeing his hair, a large part of him wishes he hadn’t bothered.

Virgil stares at his reflection in mounting horror. No matter how many times he blinked or pinched his arm the colour refused to fade into something more natural looking. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a fantasy, it was real life. 

Thomas had decided to dye his hair _purple?_

\--

After he had calmed down enough to be able to think of anything other than sheer horror at how different they are now, how much they are going to stand out in a crowd, how everyone is going to be looking at them all the time, making snap judgements about Thomas purely because of a shade of hair, Virgil tries to think of the positives as to the new colour.

Key emphasis. Tries. 

There has to be something good about this colour, otherwise Thomas wouldn’t have gotten it in the first place. It’s a pretty neat colour, all things said and done. Then again, Virgil also likes the colour red, but he wouldn't want it on his hair or his clothing. Virgil gives himself another critical stare in the mirror, searching desperately for something good. Even he has to find something good but it is only the negatives that circle in his mind, the thought of how people will look at Thomas and hate him, purely for being different. 

A shudder runs through him as a new and even more terrifying thought occurs to him, all pretense at coming up with something positive falling by the wayside. 

_Virgil_ is going to stand out. Okay, granted, not as much as Thomas himself since everyone else in the mind is going to be sporting purple hair as well and so if anything, he would have looked more odd with the old brown hair, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be more colourful. He has survived as long as he had by the fact that he blended in. Virgil had lost count of the amount of times he has been able to skate by, relying on the fact that someone will overlook him. He can remember Roman in a mood, the way lips would curl up in distaste but then he would turn away and Virgil would be able to slink back into being part of the background. Unnoticed, ignored, but safe at least.

What if they hate him for not stopping Thomas from doing this? He has just managed to gain some kind of standing around them, he is still learning how to be in the same room and teach his body that it doesn’t need to flinch or hide - or on the flip side, that it doesn’t need to snarl or lash out. He doesn’t have to do any of that anymore, because Virgil is one of them now. They aren’t going to change their mind and decide they hate him again, just because of a splash of purple, they think of him as part of the family and that means something. It has to mean something.

Things are different now. They are still different now right? 

Yes. They are. He has to hold onto that fact, he has to believe that they won’t turn their backs on him once more, not just because of some silly shade of colour within all their hair. Or the fact that he still hasn’t come out in order to help calm Logan down. Virgil cannot risk facing any of them, not yet. Not until he is ready, until he can prove his worth to them all. Virgil has to think of something to fix this. Or something good to say about the hair. Okay. Okay. He can do this. 

It wasn’t... it wasn’t what Virgil would have picked. Obviously. Purple was far brighter than his usual black and grey, it was a splash of colour against the deliberately monochromatic colour scheme that he clung too. 

The purple was actually kind of cool. It didn’t look great on Virgil, but then so few things actually did. 

He was sure it would stunning on Roman, the creative side would have the skill to style his hair to the best possible look, not to mention the confidence needed to pull it off. Whereas Virgil looked at it and saw that now when he wanted to hide, he would be hiding his eyes behind a purple fringe which does not blend in and instead makes him stand out. 

Well, there was one good thing about it, Virgil supposed. It was his favourite colour, which helps.

Virgil just wasn't really sure he could admit to that.

Was that a lie? Yes. Would it give Deceit more power? Almost certainly. Was he going to stick with his lie anyway? Yes again.

There were only so many steps that he can take at any one time. He has been trying so hard lately, been working on being the best that he can possibly be, biting down on the more aggressively negative comments that wanted to bubble out of him. Virgil has been trying so hard to see their points of views, to understand why Roman wants to do something ridiculous and/or dangerous, he tries to understand why Patton wants Thomas to pet cats despite being allergic. He tries to understand why Logan wants Thomas to spend twenty hours on the trot researching important things. Funny how Logan forgets his reliance on a sleep schedule when Thomas is caught up in something he wants their host to do.

He tries and he tries and while he isn’t very good at it yet, at least he is trying. Every day is a series of small steps, and Virgil has to hope that every painful inch he manages to cover gets him closer to really being part of the family, just like the card promises. 

It still sits on his bedside table, so every morning he wakes up and gets to look at it. Every morning it reminds him of why he is doing all of this and why he has to keep trying. There is nothing Virgil wants more than to be a properly accepted member of the family, to be loved and wanted and listened to. Nothing beyond Thomas’ safety of course, but recent events have proven to him that he can have that and still keep on good terms with them all. He can hide the more dirty and disgusting, freakish aspects of himself and work on being a better version of him. There is only so much he can do. 

Saying he liked the purple despite how scary it feels to him is just too brave for Virgil to handle. Scary. He can say that it looks edgy, scary, that is something they would expect him to say. That’s something. 

Virgil exhales, finally turning away from the mirror. He knows Thomas has been able to feel some of the emotions that have been rushing through him, despite his best efforts. Thomas knows full well that Virgil is not happy about this new change. Then again, even if he had been able to suppress himself properly, Thomas would be able to guess that Virgil was unhappy with the hair.

Thomas has an annoyingly large amount of empathy. Well, Virgil says annoying but he doesn’t mean it of course. How can anything Thomas do, be bad? He just wishes he wouldn’t turn that on him - no, no, he doesn’t wish that, he wants Thomas to care about him, of course he does. It just means more standing out, more being the focus on the conversation because again Virgil is being different. Thomas doesn’t mean any harm of course, but now that they have established that Anxiety is one of the good guys, their host will do whatever it takes to be kind to him, to help him. It’s the Patton in him shining through.

Perhaps a quiet little word in Thomas’ ear once everything has calmed down will be enough, he can take him to one side and explain that things are fine, he is fine, Thomas doesn’t need to worry about him and they certainly don’t need to talk about it. They don’t need to do anything bar pretend it doesn’t exist and hope that the colour fades soon enough. 

First though, he has to see to Logan. Virgil starts to make his way back towards the still slightly ajar door when he suddenly freezes, another rush of emotions and thoughts rushing through him at full speed. 

A video.

They are doing a video now? Of course they are doing a video right now. It isn’t enough to have purple hair and let his friends, family and people in the area see it. He has to do a video so that everyone of his fans are aware of the change. Everyone is going to _know_. Virgil doesn’t want to go out there, doesn’t want to have his conversation with Thomas while the cameras are rolling but he knows he won’t have a choice. He just has to hold onto the one little positive he has found, the fact that it is almost edgey. Thomas feels so good about his choice, so happy with the colour and Virgil really doesn’t want to join in with the group. He doesn’t want to be the one who will end up shattering that happiness and he can’t help but worry that he will do just that. He won’t be able to help himself, he will have to point out the terrible cons to this new hair, even if that means seeing Thomas’ smile waver. He still has to protect him. Somehow. 

Virgil hangs back for as long as he dares, lets the others all pop up and offer their own insights into the colour. If this had been an earlier video, they probably wouldn’t have called for him at all, too pleased that he was giving them space. If he was still the bad guy - this is the first time they have done a video since they had all decided to accept him, to ensure that he is part of the family - then all he would have done is act the part. The part is safe, the part is one that he is comfortable playing. It is one that he hates playing and would give almost anything not to have to do it anymore.

Well. He doesn’t have to now. They don’t want or expect that of him anymore. 

The problem is, he has no idea how to act like anything else. No actual idea how to be Virgil instead of Anxiety, not in a video, not in front of Thomas. He is reminded, uncomfortably, that he hasn’t really interacted with Thomas since they all came to his room to find him. While he has been forging all these new relationships with the sides, he has left his host curiously alone.

In all honesty, Virgil could not bring himself to face him before now. The thought of having to look at him and know how close Virgil had come to just leaving him, how selfish he had been to think that he wouldn’t be needed - he understands why he had thought he wouldn’t be wanted and Virgil may have instantly forgiven them for how they treated him but it doesn’t change the fact that they had been awful once upon a time and he had reacted accordingly. Virgil has let Thomas down and strangely he feels as though Thomas would forgive him for such a crime, if given the chance.

So, he doesn’t give him that chance. Virgil doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He deserves to give it, he loves them all and doesn’t blame them for how they treated him. They were only reacting to what he was and how he acted. It is Virgil who is at fault here, Virgil who lashed out and forced them to behave as they did. He shouldn’t be forgiven for that. At least, not so easily, not without proving himself and all he has managed to do is make things worse by abandoning him. If it hadn’t been for the others, Virgil would never even have realised the damage his absence has caused, how his attempt to free Thomas had so nearly ruined him. 

Thomas is good though. Pure, shockingly so when he takes into account the less savoury aspects of his mind that try to influence him on a daily basis. Virgil makes up a huge chunk of his personality and yet he is such a good person. Virgil is beyond grateful to know that he hasn’t managed to accidentally screw Thomas up completely but he still doesn’t understand how. He doesn’t understand Thomas at all really. 

No matter what, he won’t leave Thomas alone again. He won’t abandon him, not again, never again. Even if this brave new world doesn’t last, even if - or when - he messes it up and they realise they shouldn’t waste their time with him, he won’t do that again. Virgil doesn’t need Thomas to forgive him, because he has already learnt his lesson. Forgiveness feels like so much more than he can accept. 

He shows up when he is needed of course but as a voice hissing in Thomas’ mind, just like the old days when he had been far too shy and scared to actually manifest himself in person. (And hurt, terrified that Thomas would be terrified of him, back in the days of their youth when his host had feared him.)

Sooner or later, Virgil knows, he is going to have to talk to him, going to have to have that conversation. Is it so bad to wish that it will be later? 

There is a video though, which means a conversation and Virgil has no choice but to show up when he is summoned. He is summoned. First by Roman, so casually throwing his name into the conversation, gleeful at the thought of finding out what Virgil thinks about the purple shade, complete with a nickname that isn’t exactly the biting heat of previous ones. Was it said to be mean? Before, of course, Virgil would have assumed exactly that, would have ignored it on the outside but drawn it close to his heart, let it cut and bleed

He would have jumped to a conclusion. He’s trying to do better now. Hands lift to press over his ears as though he can block out the call, all the conversation that is going on with Thomas. It doesn’t help that Patton wants him to come up too. Patton, who he never wants to disappoint. His dad once more. If it was just Roman, maybe if it was just Roman and Patton, he would have stayed hidden in his dark little corner. It isn’t just Roman, he is called, he is requested. By Thomas. He knows they don’t hate him anymore but it is still a shock for Thomas to actually call him and to use his name to do so. All these things he knows with his brain and yet his heart still leaps and jumps, still shudders in shock and surprise. He wishes he could train it to behave, to react as it should. He wishes a lot of things. 

There isn’t any force in Thomas’ words, and he could probably ignore them. No, no he couldn’t. He could never ignore Thomas, even if he doesn’t particularly like the tone he takes. It is still worth it to hear him call and not sense a trace of anxiety in his voice, to know that Thomas genuinely wants to hear from him. It almost makes the fear coiling in the pit of his stomach like an angry snake from his past, ready to strike, bearable. Virgil swallows, forcing his hands down from around his head, face set into an unhappy scowl. 

Time to face the music. 

The video is not what he expects.

Not that Virgil is really sure exactly what he had expected from it. The whole thing to be about the colour of the hair perhaps? Some heartwarming message about how a man can dye his hair when it is normally seen as a female thing only? Breaking down gender roles is certainly a topic they should discuss one day, because it is stupid and outdated to restrict a person in any way simply because of that. Today is not that day it seems, because they have other matters to attend to. 

It had moved pretty rapidly from the hair and onto the real reason why Virgil felt so uncomfortable with it, shining a spotlight on him, just as Virgil had originally feared.

Roman is the one who figures it out. Perhaps Virgil shouldn’t be surprised. Roman knows the spotlight like no other. He glories in the glow of other people’s attention, he shines and grows in it in it. He has always shone but when other people’s eyes are on him, he is quite literally radiant, and not even Virgil is immune. Virgil is caught by his light, by his smile as much as anyone else and he hopes he helps when he watches him act, hopes it gives Roman that encouragement he needs. Roman is nothing like Virgil, who would wither and die if thrust into that light. 

He fears the purple hair will do just that. It will expose him to the world and the only good thing to come out of the spotlight has always been Roman - and after that, Thomas. Or should that be Thomas - and as a result, Roman? 

Virgil might be a side himself, and part of this whole mess but there are times when he feels just as confused about the rules of how their existence actually works as anyone else. 

He know enough to know that he doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want curious or pitying eyes on him, one hand lifting to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. Who knew Princey would be able to pinpoint his issues so effortlessly, issues that even Virgil hadn’t really thought out to that degree. In a few words Roman had - as he had put it - gotten to the crux of the issue. Being the odd one out has brought Virgil nothing but pain but being the odd one out has been all he has ever known.

Not dark enough for the dark sides and not light enough - until recently - for them. Always existing in some horrible limbo. Always standing out and it was never fun, never enjoyable. Virgil has known for most of his life that it was his destiny to be rejected. It hurt and he hated it, but he accepted it. Things have changed and that maybe isn’t his fate anymore, which is great, but he doesn’t know why they have to revisit painful memories. Talking about that rejection? Did they really have to be talk about it? They want to include and accept him, great. He is included, accepted, job done. They don’t need to talk about it. 

Apparently they do. 

Because he shouldn’t feel wrong for being different and it was all very well to say that, but you couldn’t just flip that switch in his mind which screamed insults at him, the voice that said he was different and thus wrong, a freak of nature. You can't just ignore those thoughts, as much as Virgil would love to. They don’t work that way. He can’t help but feel different and thus wrong. They want to show him that he is wrong for feeling wrong, a double negative that makes his head hurt a little.

Virgil has learned better than to argue unless he really needs to. He wants to pick his battles now, swallowing down the instinctive reaction to lash out and pick an opposing stance to whatever they might have decided. It is more than just saving his energy, Virgil doesn’t want to be that voice anymore, that does nothing but argue. There has to be good in things as well, and he has to try and see them, has to make them believe he is willing to see them so that when he does argue, they might be more willing to believe him in turn. They might actually listen to him. It’s worth letting them try and convince him now if that is the hope further down the line. 

It’s not the only reason he lets them try and convince him he belongs and isn’t a weirdo. Some small part of him rather likes the fact that they seemed prepared to spend a whole video on him, just after doing one. As though he is more than a passing fancy, as though he is something permanent, as if this newest change is here to stay. Virgil is here to stay. As if he truly is a valued part of Thomas.

He knows this. He knows that he knows this. So why does he doubt it? 

It’s almost as though decades of lessons are not so easily wiped from his mind. It’s almost as though the wounds of the past are still raw and aching in him, despite not wishing to let them know how much their actions have hurt him over the years.

Virgil never wants them to find out how badly they hurt him in the past. The memory of that pain should stay there, where it belonged, where it couldn’t touch the tentative hope of these newest days. 

The spotlight isn’t... quite as bad as he had thought. He still hates it, but they are actually trying to be nice to him, trying to help him find out where he belongs. With nobody being mean to him, being the centre of attention was a completely different experience this time to any he had felt before. It’s fascinating to see how the different aspects of the houses can be twisted to fit most of them. For Roman to be a Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff depending on which way the lens was tilted and shine is no mean feat. Virgil can’t help but notice despite that however, that none of the houses seem to fit him. 

Not him, not him, not him. 

He’s not a Slytherin. He’s not a cunning leader, he’s not ambitious. Not unless you count ambition as a desire to hoard every blanket known to man and create the best blanket fort in the world to live in, something that Virgil has been seriously considering lately. If that was the case, then yes, he was indeed ambitious, just not in the way that a Slytherin is supposed to be. He is the dark and sinister one however, Virgil pushing aside the spark of hurt those words inspire. Roman doesn’t mean harm with his words, not today, he is simply describing the face that Virgil has always made an effort to show to the world. Of course that is what Roman says because it is what he has has tried to make him believe. It shouldn’t string when it is his own fault. He chose this. 

To his eternal surprise, Thomas defends him, shuts down any idea that Slytherin’s are inherently evil. More than that, he says that Virgil isn’t like that anyway. He doesn’t even entertain the idea, not for a moment, that Virgil might be one of the admittedly large amount of Slytherin type, who does fall into the dark and sinister set. He knows Harry Potter after all - memories of Roman accidentally spoiling parts of it come to mind - and he knows with very few exceptions that those who turn ‘dark’ or who are already ‘dark’ belong to that house and no other. 

Virgil also knows that things are supposed to be better between them all now, but he hasn’t done anything since the last video to prove that one way or the other. He hasn’t justified such faith and yet Thomas still has it in him. 

Will his host ever stop surprising him? Some part of Virgil hopes not, hopes he keeps pushing far past those lines that Virgil has drawn in the sand. Thomas is good, so very good that it makes his heart ache at the mere thought. He loves Thomas, loves his host more and more with each passing moment. Every time he believes he has reached the limit of his love, that he is as besotted with Thomas as it is possible to get, his host goes and does something that stretches those limits even further. Maybe one day he might even come close to telling him how he feels. Stranger things have happened. 

He’s certainly not a Hufflepuff. They are friendly and that alone disqualifies him from being in such a house. How could Virgil ever fit in with the bright yellow badgers, people who want to help, who smile and are friendly and really a bit of everything? They are good, kind, hopeful people by and large. They are the Patton’s of the group, and as much as Virgil loves Patton, they are nothing alike. He can’t decide if Patton’s eagerness to convince him he belongs in this house is a result of the moral side simply wanting Virgil to be included and part of the family at any cost or maybe, just maybe, the fact that he wants him to be with _him_. 

The thought of working hard makes Virgil feel almost ill, no matter how cheerfully Patton says the words. Working hard to make Thomas miserable perhaps, make him unhappy - no, no, he isn’t that anymore. He is getting better. He is the thing that keeps Thomas safe and safe is good. Positive reinforcement. That has to be the way forward. Keep repeating more positive things over and over again until he tricks himself into believing his own hype. 

Is it even possible to train yourself to be a better you? Virgil is sure Logan will have some self help books lying around somewhere. It is simply a case of catching the logical side on a good day and distracting him enough so he doesn’t think too hard on Virgil’s request - he has learnt, he could just go and take it, but that would be wrong, would be a betrayal of the trust the logical side has in him. Virgil will ask instead, and run the risk of humiliation over that. He will run the risk that Logan might think about the books he has asked for and drawn his own conclusions. 

Virgil isn’t some lab specimen to study. He knows - believes? - that Logan would never do that to him on purpose but then again there is a difference between intent and accident. It would be far too easy for Logan to slip into a mindset that required him to take notes and examine Virgil without meaning to be harsh but coming across as that all the same. He doesn't want that to be their relationship. So he needs to pick his moment carefully, get the books and get out. 

Later. When he isn't swapped by these choices, such strong, huge choices. They are always hard for him to make, but it feels worse now that all eyes are on him. At least when it came to the actual Sorting in Harry Potter, the choice was taken out of the students hands. You just went where the hat told you too. Virgil could get behind that. There was no need to justify your worth because it had been already defined for you. Virgil isn’t that lucky of course, he has to find his way on his own. Not on his own. 

They are here to guide him, trying to tempt him down their own paths. Those paths belong to them though, not him. 

As much as Virgil would like to believe otherwise, he knows better than to think that he might be a Ravenclaw. The problem solvers, the go getters. The ones who find issues sure but then they buckle down and do what needs to be done in order to make sure the problem is sorted. They can look at things calmly, rationally. They aren’t going to panic at every little thing and only see the terrible outcomes. They are able to predict good results and plan for them accordingly. They are wise and devious at times, true, but they look at the world in their own way. They are witty, full of wisdom, both related to books and to how the world works at large. 

It doesn’t sum him up. Of course it doesn’t. Ravenclaws are so much better than he could ever hope to be and Virgil can feel that little flicker of hope start to fade within his chest. The tiny flame was always going to struggle to stay lit against such overwhelming odds but Virgil had been really hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find something within these houses that he could understand and see in himself. 

He has always loved the books, still finds himself reading them at times and yet now when they try and find something positive to say about him, good reasons for Virgil to belong to any of the houses, they are coming up blank. 

Maybe he is a Slytherin. Not the type the founders and fans see, but the type that is so commonly seen in casual interactions, the ‘evil’ Slytherins, the ones that always fall, who become the enemy. The ones who follow He Who Must Not Be Named. Maybe all he is is his dark and sinister clothes after all. 

Roman isn’t giving up on him and Virgil adds that to the list of things to be examined in exhaustive detail once this disaster of a video is done. It is a disaster, or at least, it will be, because they are going to get to the end of the video and for the first time ever, there won’t be a resolution to the issue that Thomas has decided to focus on. Of course there won’t be a solution because at the end of the day how do you solve a problem like Virgil? How do you find a label for him that is good? What if this is what it takes to make them realise they made a mistake in accepting him because there is nothing good to be found in him?

Virgil can’t survive going back into the cold again, he just can’t. 

He can feel his heart rate pick up, blood pumping faster and faster through his form at the thought of how disappointed the fans are going to be when they see this video and the role Virgil is playing. Even when he isn’t trying to be deliberately awkward it seems as though he does nothing but cause issues. He wishes he belonged in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, he wishes he was easy to understand, that he could just pick a house and be happy with it. 

A Gryffindor? It’s sweet that Roman truly is trying to make him feel included, and it sparks all manner of strange feelings within his chest that Virgil is nowhere near ready to explore, not with everything else that is currently going on, but no matter how sweet the sentiment might be, there is no way that Virgil, with all his fears, his doubts, his disdain of anything even remotely reckless, is a Gryffindor. 

Neville had silently argued for minutes with the hat about where he belonged. He hadn’t felt worthy of Gryffindor, not in the slightest but when the moment came he more than rose to the occasion. Virgil isn’t Neville. He might take their pain on as if it were his own, but that is his job, his purpose. He does it because he has to - because he loves them - because it is only right that he do so. That doesn’t make him brave. Doesn’t make him worthy, and he knows he would fail a similar trial if he was presented with one. For the sake of the others, he hopes he never has to do that.

None of those houses are him. None of them describe him, none of them fit him. He is a side without a house, without a home. He doesn’t fit and is he foolish to have hoped that he might? He tries to tell them that, tries to show them that he doesn’t belong in any house and so doesn’t really have a place here, but they ignore him. 

No, not ignore.

That doesn’t really describe what happens. He has been ignored by them before, more times than he can count. Each one had stung, bitten into his skin like another little flea bite until eventually they had threatened to overcome him. This didn’t hurt like that. They keep going yes, they keep trying to prove him wrong, but it comes from a different place now. It isn’t dismissing his viewpoint in a way to try and make him irrelevant or unimportant. It’s trying to elevate him to something... more. 

Apparently they really aren’t done with the whole accepting him thing.

He still fits in. Somehow despite - or because - of the fact that he doesn’t fit, he fits in with them. He belongs here, now and forever. It isn’t just because they are worried that he will duck out again, that they are trying to manage him out of pity or duty. They don’t try and get along with him in the hope that it will make their own lives easier in turn. 

They want to do more than have him working. They want him to be good, they want him to do better and Virgil - Virgil wants nothing more than to be worthy of such things. He wants to be better for them. He wants to be normal for them. 

It is nothing new, this knowledge. They have told him time and time again that they care now, that they wish him to be properly included in this family. They had smiled and held out their hands and expected him to forget all the times they had shunned him instead, when hands had been lifted in order to ward him off.

Virgil was never a fast learner. Not in those times of negatively and now, these moments of positivity. 

He still needs to pick a house. Or... does he? None of them fit him but maybe that is the point. Maybe he doesn’t need one of them. Maybe he can be a Ravenclaw with Hufflepuff tendencies, or a Hufflepuff with Gryffindor ones. Maybe he isn’t one simple, easy to define thing, maybe he is indeed, too different. Maybe different doesn’t mean wrong. The whole point of this was to try and prove to him that he was fine, just the way he was. He doesn’t need to change himself to... belong.

Fitting into a house would mean changing himself, would mean squishing up the parts of him that didn’t fit, denying or lying about who he was. Virgil isn’t going to do that anymore. It’s still not bravery, not really. It’s acceptance. Or a sorts. Taking one slow step towards accepting himself, in whatever form he can.

Virgil has to say something. He needs to pick a direction to fall. They are all looking at him. All using their eyes to look at him. Waiting to see what he is going to say, what he is going to pick. There is a strange warmth to their gazes though, as though it isn’t all bad to have all the attention focused on him. It doesn’t make it any easier to come to a decision but at least his heart isn’t screaming at him. In fact, he feels almost calm, as though their gazes are giving him strength instead of making him weak. He takes a deep breath. And somehow, finds the words. 

“Then I’m not picking a house. I don’t need to belong to a specific Hogwarts House... in order to belong with you guys.” 

The reactions from everyone else tells him that he has made the right choice. The delight, the pride from them all and Virgil can feel his heart start to swell with all these emotions, for once letting himself feel everything they want to share with him. Is this what it feels like, to properly belong? To get to hear and see how he can help and how they approve of his actions? How can he have possibly survived for this long without such a thing? If he wasn’t feeling so great, he might worry about that and how he will possibly cope on days when they don't say something nice about him. Or how he might cope should he mess up once more.

Virgil doesn’t think about that. Because Thomas is now smiling at him, and that is like a drug in its own right, completely independent of the feelings of - dare he even think it - pride and joy that the sides are giving him. It's even more intoxicating, and Virgil is struck yet again by just how much he loves his host, how he wants him to be happy and how, it seems, he is able to do that. Who would have thought that Anxiety would ever be able to make Thomas smile like that? In his bubble of pure bliss, he can’t even hear the voices that would normally be lurking in the back of his mind, hissing their poison and ruining the moment. He doesn’t have any doubts, any second thoughts of nerves, he simply... enjoys the moment.

Right up until the second that Roman has an idea. He always has ideas and more often than not, they are terrible ones, ideas that Virgil is duty bound to try and stop or at the very least calm down into something workable. He should do that right now, should cut through the talking and try and get some details from Roman instead of letting him run wild. He should.

He isn’t going to. 

This time Virgil is going to let him do whatever it is he is thinking about without demanding answers and reassurance first. Virgil is feeling so good, still riding the high of that smile Thomas sent in his direction and with that still burning in his veins it is easy to trust Roman. Just this once. 

Logan is talking, taking up the mantle that Virgil has so easily ignored, only to be stunned into silence as Roman’s idea becomes clear and Virgil can feel his own eyes widen in surprise at what the actual idea is, Roman suddenly shifting and standing before them in a new outfit. A new outfit? Roman hasn't changed his princely attire since they were children, not really. Sometimes he would change the colour of his sash and of course there had been those periods where he would adopt a different persona but never to this extent.

Unsurprisingly, Roman looks fantastic, and truly like he has stepped out of some fairy tale somewhere, a Prince ready to save the day and woo yonder fair maiden - to other prince. The crisp white, gold and red make his eyes water a little and yet Virgil can’t bring himself to look away, simply eyeing him in silence. They all join in, eagerly taking the chance to change and update their outfits. Even Logan, and Virgil is surprised at that. He has to admit, they _all_ look good with their own little logos, their own little touches. They have grown so much from the Vine characters Thomas had based off them, grown into their own clothes, their own style. Virgil is so proud of this little family that has somehow grown up around him, watching as they all make their mark.

“Virgil, your turn!” 

Patton’s words are cheery and no doubt meant with the best of intentions but it brings all his doubts crashing back, and it was one thing to watch the others all change, but to have to do it himself? After just sharing his name and he was still trying to adjust to all the countless little ways in which his life was different now, trying his best to relearn how to do everything now he longer has to fight for the smallest thing.

So many changes.

But... they haven't been bad changes, not yet at least. This life he has now is so far removed from the one he had been living before he tried to duck out true, so different as to be hardly unrecognisable but it is so much better, and no amount of pathetic day dreaming has ever come close to the amazing and unbelievable stroke of good fortune he has been granted.

Perhaps he shouldn't try and push his luck. What if their love and friendship is finite and he goes too far by trying something new? No, that was wrong and mean of him to even think. They are so much better than that, so much more than his tiny little mind can even start to comprehend. They aren’t the sort to act like that, which means, he could... he could change his outfit. He could let himself be more than this black figure of lurking, endless dread. 

Virgil thinks of the hoodie that lies hidden in the back of his closet. He thinks of the times he would lock the door and physically climb into the wooden structure in order to wrap it around himself and try and fool himself into thinking he is akin to a light side because he has a colour. Deceit has a colour too of course, but then Deceit said that was just because of who he was, that he was important to Thomas’ well being. Anxiety didn’t get a colour because he was nothing but a sickness. 

Here is a chance to prove him wrong. A chance to be colourful and fit in. He could use his hoodie, it is almost perfect. It needs a tiny bit of modification, he needs a symbol if he really is going to fit in. He might not need a Hogwarts House to belong with the rest of them, but he does need a symbol, a mark that is his own. And not a Death Mark, so what else could he use? Well it's easy enough to think of one. A storm cloud. It is what he is, always raining on their fun, always ruining things. He is the sudden clap of thunder that draws the attention and then the flash of lightning that lets them see things as they actually are. 

Wait. Is he actually considering this?

Should he?

 _Could_ he?

Thomas still looks so supportive, so encouraging and the doubts he has are swept away by that expression, by the warmth that easily blossoming up in him again, that desire to make his host happy stronger than any drug. He is going to do this and if they don’t like it... well, it is just like Thomas says, he can always change back. 

“Well... all right, but, um, before I do, I should probably confess that, uh -”

Virgil screws up his face a little, a rush of giddy pleasure running through him as he realises he is really going to do this. Not only grant himself colour but deny Deceit the power this little lie gives him. He can free himself even more from his influence, and that thought spurs him along almost as much as the desire to make them happy does. 

“I actually really dig the purple.”

They all love his new outfit, his first chance to really show them who Virgil is. He might be still discovering that himself, every day he is learning more about himself but now that he is spending time with the other sides, he realises that the same is true of everyone. Virgil had always thought there was something wrong with him - well, had added it to the list of many things that were wrong with him - in that he didn’t understand everything himself and was learning as he went. 

Now, he thinks, that might just be... life. 

Even Roman, the embodiment of creativity likes his new outfit. Bar one or two missteps along the way and the thought that Roman might have been making fun of the clothing had hurt, a deep disappointment that was only a few seconds away from making him change back to the old black. Roman manages to save it, still looking slightly stunned by the outfit and Virgil... well, Virgil will take that as the best he could hope for. 

He sinks down after the video is done, intending to go back to his room to relax in solitude before pausing and reconsidering. It is what he always does, slinks away to lick his wounds in peace until the next time he is wanted. Only there are no wounds to lick now and maybe he should change how he thinks, how he acts. Maybe he should just... sit for a little while and let the rest of the mind mill on around him instead of hiding. 

There is a lot of things that Virgil needs to unlearn. It is clear that he has a lot of thinking to do. It is also clear that he needs to offer them something substantial in return. They deserve nothing less. He chews at his bottom lip as he flops down on the sofa, staring ahead at the wall without really seeing it. Of course he would turn over recent events in his mind, just because he is sitting in a public area instead of his own bed, doesn’t mean he is able to escape the doubts that greedily try and surge into his mind, swamping all other thoughts if he lets them.

If he lets them. And if he doesn’t... a new look, a new start? They all have new looks, all blossoming under Thomas’ attention, all becoming more than he thinks even Thomas realises. Their host has no idea what he is really doing, the changes that are coming now he is embracing himself more and more. He has no idea how they are so much more than the labels they had onced used to define themselves, how Virgil has no idea what he is actually becoming and only the hope they inspire keeps him going. 

It won't be long before they come, maddened by the thought of love, by the feast of emotions and attention on offer. They will have noticed by now, what Virgil has and they will want it for themselves, will try and do whatever they can in order to steal it. It won't be long before they try and take it for themselves. He has to be ready. He has to protect Thomas and the others from them.

Until then, he has this. 

The sensation of the sofa dipping as Patton settles next to him, the moral side giving him a soft little smile. It is a gentler expression than he would have expected from the normally excitable side. 

“You doing okay kiddo?”

The automatic response is just to say yes regardless of how he actually feels. Nobody ever really says that question and expects any kind of real answer. Well... nobody but Patton of course, and he feels as though Patton really means what he is asking. The least he can do is give him an honest answer.

“You know what... I think I might be,” Virgil tells him after a long pause, considering his own feelings carefully. He doesn’t actually feel as overwhelmed as he might have expected from a video that had been focused on him, a video that had resulted in yet more changes, his tired mind struggling to keep track of them all. Despite that, he feels... kind of good about everything. 

Virgil’s smile is bashful, almost innocent as he lets Patton ruffle his hair, the fatherly side positively beaming with happiness. Virgil lets himself feel a little of that too, lets some of that warmth and good will rub off from Patton and sink into normally chill bones. It feels good to be part of this. Good to belong. Maybe he can do better, maybe he can show them how much he cares. He can be the sort of person he really wants to be. 

It is a shame that he is incapable of giving them what they deserve, a shame that he has somehow managed to forget what he really is, that for all his idealistic hopes about protecting them from the dark sides that lurk in the forgotten corners of Thomas’ mind, he had neglected to wonder who would protect them from him.

A shame that it all blows up in his face far faster than even Virgil had predicted. Just because he had seen it coming, had expected to screw up, doesn't make the moment any easier to deal with, when he slips and acts like Anxiety of old.


	24. Am I tricking myself nice?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If some days are easier, then it should perhaps come as no surprise to realise some days are harder. Some days when he can maybe manage breakfast, or maybe manage an hour with Logan sorting through the upcoming schedule but nothing more. Nothing taxing. Nothing that involves him having to make any kind of choice - Virgil hadn’t realised how many _choices_ are expected when you are a part of a family, when you are shown more than the most basic of human interactions.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> How can he be Virgil - and still do his role as Anxiety?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really got to stop deciding before I write, where I want a chapter to end, as you end up with stupid long chapters sometimes. But I really wanted to get to this out to you before the holiday really started, because I didn’t want to end the year on the depressing note of the end of the last chapter. So have this huge one instead. Which... is also angsty but hopefully more positive at the end. Chapter title comes from _Two Evils_ by **Bastille**.
> 
> Please, please be aware, **Chapter Warning** : the first half of this chapter includes a panic attack. There is also mention of emotional self harm. Please keep safe. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Am I tricking myself nice?

** **

Some days are easier than others.

Those are the days when he leaves his room for breakfast, when he can smile at them. It is a lot easier to smile at them now because they smile back. On the very best of days, Virgil even manages a smile without hiding it behind a sleeve and cough. Some days he sits on the sofa next to Roman and can actually manage the physical contact of their shoulders bumping together without flinching. 

Those days he treasures, hoards the memories of baking with Patton, flour in both their hair as they giggle. With Patton, he almost never thinks to hide his smiles, because Patton’s response is warm enough to make him feel good about sharing them, but not too extreme that he feels under pressure or embarrassed by them. He holds those days tight to his chest. Reminds himself of times curled up reading with Logan, when they discuss the merits and flaws of the chosen book of the moment. Sometimes Roman or Patton join in, but more often than not, the book club consists of just the two of them. 

He smiles as he thinks of lying flopped on Remy’s bed, scrolling through his social media pages and listening to Remy rant about some drama or another that was going on in the back of the mind. Virgil hates drama, it makes his breath catch in his throat, makes his heart thud, thud, thud so painfully in his chest. 

It’s never like that when Remy gossips. There is something about the way he talks, the flick of hip and wrist, the over dramatic little lilt to certain words that make him feel as though the function is sharing some play rather than the latest news on what Deceit is up to these days. Remy could probably give Roman a run for his money in the dramatic stakes. Not that Virgil wants to see that, he isn’t sure he could survive watching the pair of them interact for any great period of time, he thinks his head would explode.

If some days are easier, then it should perhaps come as no surprise to realise some days are harder. Some days when he can maybe manage breakfast, or maybe manage an hour with Logan sorting through the upcoming schedule but nothing more. Nothing taxing. Nothing that involves him having to make any kind of choice - Virgil hadn’t realised how many _choices_ are expected when you are a part of a family, when you are shown more than the most basic of human interactions. 

Before, even on the rare moments when he had been included, choies had been made for him. Patton gave him whatever breakfast the moral side had decided to make, the others would pick a movie on the very rare times he had been allowed downstairs without a fight. He would sit apart from them on his own personal chair, occasionally on the actual seat part but more often than not on the arm, one hand lifted nervously to his mouth, chewing on a thumbnail. Virgil had never been able to actually enjoy whatever it was they were watching, always too aware of the others, always on the highest of alerts, convinced he was going to destroy things simply by existing and that they would throw him out once more. His own fears had gotten the better of him more than once, and those nights had been disasters in more ways than they ever knew.

Now they always offered him the choice. What movie should they all watch and how could Virgil possibly pick something they would all enjoy? He always tried to pick for other people and although nobody seemed to notice when he chose documentaries on days Logan needs a boost or disney on days Roman did, it surely won't be long before someone picked up on it. Worst of all, did he want to sit on his own seat or would he like to join them on the sofa, where they had moved up, so there was now enough room for him? 

That last choice felt like a trick question, with the way whichever side worded it. It was one where he knew there was a right answer, the sort of answer that they all hoped he would give. The answer that was; yes, I would love to sacrifice any concept of personal space I might have. 

He would love to sit on the sofa, of course he would. He would love to feel as though he is properly a part of the family, and sink into the warmth that their casual touches bring, he would love for Patton to put his arm around his shoulder and Virgil _not_ flinch like some broken toy convinced he was about to be hurt once more. Try as Patton might, he can’t hide the anguish in his eyes whenever he touches Virgil in such a manner without warning and gets that reaction. 

Virgil doesn’t want to hurt Patton and so its easier to limit the possibilities for unprepared physical contact, so that when Patton wants a hug, Virgil knows and can still the reactions. He loves the feeling of being held by his dad far, far too much to ever want to risk losing them again. 

Looking back he can't even remember how he got his own chair. Had Roman or one of the others set it up to include him but keep him a little seperate or had he picked it first out of fear that they would chase him away in disgust if he dared to even think about sitting close to them. Virgil had always been so afraid of them realising how needy and weak he actually was, of how badly he wanted to be with them that he had probably been the cause of a number of stress headaches that had hit Thomas - headaches he had then removed true, but he had been to blame for them all the same. 

From being denied all choices, he has now been flung in the complete opposite direction, where they expect him to pick everything. Dozens of tiny things but they all build up. What did he want for breakfast? For lunch? What movie would he like to watch, would he like to pick the next book for the book club? Which of these five different board games would he like to play next? Sweet or salted popcorn? One or two spoonfuls of sugar this drink? How about the next?

They didn’t accept a shrug, or a ‘I don’t mind’ or ‘you pick’. They all seem desperate to make up for their error in taking these choices from him for all these years. Virgil appreciates the sentiment of course. It makes something warm bloom inside of him to know that they want to fix things, that they care about what he might want over just making the choices for him. It makes him feel good to know that they actually take the time to try and learn his personal preferences, his likes and dislikes instead of deciding what they think he should like. 

A voice whispers that it is guilt, it is only guilt and that they care more about easing their own conscience over what he might actually want or need but Virgil is getting better at ignoring that voice, during daylight hours at least. He is sure it is a little bit of that too of course, even if they might not realise that is why they are doing it. Virgil doesn’t matter if that is the case, so long as guilt and thinking about themselves isn’t the only reasons as to why they are working so hard to include him - and he knows that it isn’t. So he tells that voice anyway, refusing to give it anymore power than it already possesses.

They don't seem to realise how overwhelming it can be to be faced with all of these choices and never given a break from them. As wonderful as it is to be included, there are still times when he wishes that someone would just take one or two of these choices out of his hands, when they would decide for him and give his over stimulated mind a rest. 

Virgil had lost count of the amount of times he had imagined something like this. To have them all begging for his forgiveness, for them to realise how wrong they had been in excluding him in the first place. He had never quite imagined how it would actually feel, to have them all at his feet begging his forgiveness. He had never quite pictured what it would be like to be inside the inner circle, to be loved, and to see all the little, day to day moments that might be simply but were treasured nevertheless. 

He had never imagined the sheer range of choices that never ended. 

None of them seem to have trouble making choices themselves and it doesn’t seem to occur to them that it might be hard for Virgil. None of them think how an anxious mindset can twist almost anything into something bad, how the stress of picking is crushing at times. What if he chooses wrong? What if he is judged for a choice he made, what if he doesn’t pick the best thing for everyone? It is always worse when the choices involve the others, such as when he is asked by Patton what he thinks they should have for dinner. It's a terrible situation to be thrown into, his mind racing as he runs through all the foods he knows the others like, trying to think of something that they might all enjoy.

Some days he can manage it all quite well. Not every day of course, but then that was never going to be an option for Virgil. He can never quite forget what he is, or how he drags them all down to his level just by existing but on his best days he has learned to push those thoughts away and act as though he is as close to normal as he can get.

Some days aren’t as easy. 

On those less good days, Virgil reads some of the comments he has saved from the ‘Accepting Anxiety’ videos, the ones that heap praise on Thomas and the rest in general for the story arc they had decided to explore. They thank Thomas for approaching the topic with maturity, for shining a different light on the issue, not making light of it or dismissing those who suffer from it a much greater degree - Virgil feels sorry for those utterly in the grip of their anxiety, as well as sorry for their actual Anxiety. The amount of work they had to do every day to keep their hosts in such a heightened sense of alarm, the terror that had to be running through them so that they thought that was all they could do. They wanted to protect and in doing so inflicted terrible harm. 

Maybe that would have been him, if it hadn’t been for the headaches, maybe he would have eventually gone down that road out of some misguided belief that it was the only way to save Thomas from the rest of the world. But then that first migraine had happened, pushing him into sneaking into the real world when he wasn’t ready. He had met Thomas for the first time that night and been granted a smile and a name - both of which kept him going through the years, let him ease up when he had to. He didn’t want to overwhelm Thomas because some things had been more important than imagined safety. He had been broken and corrupted from the start but Virgil thinks he would rather be this broken version of himself, than an Anxiety that ended up hurting those he loves. 

That smile had saved Thomas so much agony, and although the viewers have no idea of it - nor Thomas for that matter - they still leave comments about how brave Thomas was for confronting his issues, for accepting a difficult part of himself and starting to learn how he can best live with it. 

That’s not all the comments say however. Some of them... they praise... Anxiety. They _like_ Virgil and he still isn’t sure how he is supposed to feel about that. You aren’t supposed to like something like him and yet there are comments where viewers do just that. Where they defend his actions and his motives, when they point to previous videos and little moments when he had been trying to help. They see something worthy in him. 

Those viewers see a lot. They seem to see in him their own problems and struggles, their own growth. They see things that Virgil thought he had hidden quite well, little twitches and hints as to his real movies and desires, how he loves them all but can’t seem to say it. They see a lot of things that aren’t there too, but by and large, they are fairly accurate. Virgil really hopes that the others don’t think too deeply on these comments and don’t look back through the videos for the ‘evidence’ the viewers have collected. They don’t need to know how badly he had hurt in the past because he doesn’t care anymore and he really doesn’t want to think about those painful videos.

Positivity almost leaks from those comments, Virgil carefully re-reading each and every one, letting the words build him back up. These people are strangers, they don’t know him, they have no reason to lie, no ulterior motives in being nice to him. There is nothing to be gained from talking to each other about Virgil's apparent merits, not unless they honestly believe them. 

Oh, how he hopes that they really do believe in him. For all that he might not understand why they fill the comments with such love, he is greedy and desperate enough to take what they offer, to let their words warm the cold, empty spaces in his heart. Virgil would love to believe he might be worthy of those words and although he can’t actually take that final step and simply believe everything they say, he can at least let the light of the words reflect off him.

On his not good at all days he reads the negative comments he has saved, the ones that Patton and the rest think he doesn’t know about, the ones Roman tries to hide from him - he should have known that trying to hide something would have instantly made Virgil more curious and more determined to see what it was. His own anxiety demanded nothing less, his mind filling with all sorts of horrible visions about what it could be that the prince was trying to hide from him. The truth, no matter how terrible was always going to be better than the things his worse enemy - himself - could conjure up. 

Virgil isn’t sure what he is going to find as he scrolls through hidden pages, something cruel about Thomas perhaps? He finds the nasty comments instead, the ones left by internet trolls, although he had never liked the use of the world troll in that context, had always felt it was a little unfair to the trolls of the world, beasts that were not considered the nicest of things true, lurking under bridges and threatening to eat people but they just got a bad rep in the stories. 

If you were having a nice nap and people kept stomping over your roof and being rude to you, you would probably be cranky and threaten all kind of things as well. 

He knows full well that he shouldn’t read the comments, that they will be negative and possibly damaging to his own mental health. He _knows_ that they will be filled with the sort things he already tells himself, the words that cut deep and do him harm, the ones he fights so hard to ignore. Virgil clicks on them anyway, and on those bad days, he reads them. The ones who scream at Thomas for glorifying a sickness like Anxiety, for giving him a redemption arc when instead he should have done another video about how to battle and overcome him. How Anxiety ruins lives, how he causes nothing but harm and misery, leaving pain and broken people in his wake.

Virgil knows all this. He knows what he is. 

(Expect he doesn’t, does he? He lets Deceit seep into his thoughts and words, lets the lies wrap themselves around him so he forgets what he really is, so he tricks himself into believing his own lies, believing that he is anything more than a disease.)

He takes the pain those words give him almost gleefully. There is something almost therapeutic about hurting himself emotionally despite already being in pain, pressing against an already tender spot and letting it hurt all the sharper. It is akin to being sad and watching a sad movie but so much more worse because it is personal, aimed directly at him. This isn’t the sort of pain he should be embracing, it isn’t healthy to read how many people hate him - more people seem to like him rather than hate him but he doesn’t want to think of something good like that, not when he wants the pain to hurt him. Better to hurt and feel the pain, to know that he can feel it, rather than risk sinking back into the ice numbness of before. Anything is better than falling back into that ice and letting it encase him again - Virgil doesn’t want to go back to that, doesn’t want to become that again, by far his lowest point ever.

Virgil isn’t stupid. He knows that Patton would be so disappointed in him to know he is deliberately hurting himself. He can picture how the bottom lip would quiver just a fraction, how there would be heartbreak and anguish in his eyes. Virgil would stop reading them to make Patton happy, but for better or for worse - for worse, he knows it is for worse - they are his current coping mechanism. He needs them right now, because of how they hurt, for all that he knows he shouldn’t.

The list of things he knows just keeps on growing and growing, without anything useful ever coming of that knowledge. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it's dangerous and bad, he knows it just would cause pain if other people knew. He knows that just because Patton and the rest are oblivious to his action, that doesn’t make it right. It makes it worse, in a way, to know it would cause them pain and still do it anyway. 

Still, he reads them, lets the words sink in so he can wallow in self pity despite hating himself for it for a few hours and hopefully by the end of that time, he has managed to climb out of his head enough to at least crawl towards something a little more positive, something he can build upon and eventually even leave his room once more and rejoin the rest of the mind, without them any the wiser of what he has been doing. 

Those are the bad days. 

Some days are the worse. 

Some days he feels like a feral cat in heat, scratching and howling at the world. 

It is as though he is climbing some endless mountain. Everytime he feels that he might be nearing the top of the mountain, that the summit might be in sight, another huge part of the mountain suddenly looms up out of nowhere and he has yet another steep side to try and scramble up, using his rope to drag himself inch by painful inch higher and higher. 

Every now and then the rope snaps and he is sent skidding and hurting down, losing all the progress he has made. He is left battered and bruised, but worse than that is the damage he inflicts on those he claims to love, the damage he is so proud of avoiding most of the time. Like the time he snapped at Thomas over something stupid, some tiny sick part of him pleased when Thomas had flinched and backed down. Like the time Thomas had gone to get a coffee and couldn’t decide between two seasonal drinks that both sounded delicious, even by the time they reached the barista and Virgil had panicked, contributing to the embarrassing mess of words that had resulted in them not getting either of the drinks they had originally wanted.

Like this time.

All Thomas had wanted was to go over to a friend’s house and show them his hair, then hang out for a couple of hours, actually leave his own home for a change. Nothing wrong in that, nothing remotely bad to warrant Virgil throwing a massive fit. Except the car was broken and so that meant they had to walk for twenty minutes. Except that would have meant walking past the house of someone they had known in High School, someone that was very homophobic and was the sort to literally pick physical fights with anyone he considered ‘different’.

And Thomas looked very different right now. He tried it their way, he has been trying so hard, but the fear has merely been biding its time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, Virgil easily forgetting that it is okay to listen to the others, because his mind is screaming that they don’t understand, they don’t get the dangers that are out there, waiting for Thomas. How could they, when the dangers and how to best avoid them, were Virgil - no, Anxiety’s job?

They could have simply gone another way as Roman tries to suggest, but it would have been a massive detour to avoid that house since it was so close to his friends. He could have asked his friend to cover over but they had hurt their leg and it hardly seems fair to force them to come all the way to Thomas. It has to be better to wait until the car was fixed and so it was safer, because driving there was fine. Even if they were spotted there was little the other guy could do - unless he was also in a car and then chased them all the way home and no, no, nope. He can't let Thomas risk that, there could be a car accident, attempted murder, actual murder!

Now that he has thought of cars, Virgil can't help but conjure up nightmare scenarios of Thomas walking by and the old school mate cackling and twirling their mustache that Virgil has just imagined, and then running over Thomas as he tries to run away. From the shiver that runs through Thomas, he knows his host is picturing it too and he rarely loses control like this, rarely lets the horrors in his mind blossom so vividly in Thomas but Virgil can feel his breath catching painfully in his throat, making each breath harder and harder to manage. 

They can’t go out, they can’t risk it, can’t let Thomas get hurt and Virgil can feel the panic swarm all over him at the idea, can feel his heart start to race, cold beads of sweat breaking out over his forehead as the images become more and more vivid, more and more bloody and he doesn’t want Thomas to be hurt. He can’t let Thomas be hurt, and so no, they aren’t going out. 

Somewhere, above the rush and thud of his heart and his own shallow breaths he can hear a steady voice repeating a series of numbers over and over again, snatches of sound that he strains to hear but there is just the thud, thud, thud of his heart and panicked background voices that weave in and out of the numbers, vivid spots of fear and panic that make him want to scream. His teeth are clenched too tightly together for him to make any noise however, the pressure making his jaw ache and he is hurting and screaming on the side, kicking against the panic that is wrapping itself tightly around him and squeezing the life out of him. 

There is warmth on his hands, a squeeze of reassuring pressure that keeps him from spinning completely away. A tap against the back of his hand, a repetitive motion he could count with, if he wanted. If he was able. The voice is still talking, the one with the numbers. The others have gone silent, so all that is left is his pathetic wheezing and the numbers, one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five six, seven. One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight. Over and over again. 

He breathes in. Holds. He breathes out, letting some of the panic fade slightly, enough so that he can take in the rest of the room properly once more. His eyes are closed. When did Virgil close his eyes? He can’t remember doing that, but the world is black until he peels them open once more, wincing against the suddenly harsh light that is stabbing against his eyes. The weight in his hands solidifies, shifting form until he can make out the face of Patton in front of him, the bespectacled side gripping his hands tightly in his own. Now that he can focus enough, Virgil can see that it is Patton’s left index finger tapping against the back of his hand in time to the numbers, and the voice he now realises belongs to Logan.

The logical side is standing a couple of steps back from them, as though afraid to crowd them - or no, no, it couldn’t be that. As though afraid of getting too close with the broken side that is Virgil and his stupid, stupid panic. Timidly, Virgil lifts his eyes enough to meet Patton’s gaze and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Patton looks utterly heartbroken, the sort of tear filled eyes that he has imagined would happen if he found out about the comments only it is ten times worse than he could have ever dreamt up. 

Eyes flicker away from Patton, unable to look at him any longer, taking in the rest grouped around him, Thomas and Roman a couple of paces behind Logan. They are all staring at him, they are all... they all look horrified. Of course they do. He just shouted them down, screamed over any and all objections they might have had. He didn't listen to any counter offers by logic, or any imaginative offers by creativity and he certainly hadn't listened to the heart and what was right because of course it was right they go and visit a friend that was hurt. 

Roman looks the worse, one hand hovering against his waist as though he is a split second away from pulling a sword from his belt and charging. There is a strange expression on his face, something between panic, pity and anger. Virgil doesn’t know which is the worst emotion to have directed at him. He has seen anger on Roman’s face plenty of times when he looked at him, he has even seen panic. Pity is new. Pity is bad, and he can’t stand it, can’t bare to be in this room any longer, and yes, pity is by far the worse.

He pulls away from Patton’s grip with a shuddering gasp, hands flying up to pull his hood up and over his head. Even that doesn’t give him any real comfort because they are still there, still staring at him - still _pitying_ him.

The room is still too bright, too everything, that awful silence bar his ragged breathing broken as Thomas opens his mouth.

“Virgil...” He sounds... he sounds so terrible, so broken and Virgil did that to him, Virgil made him panic and be afraid, made him question what he really wanted to do over a series of highly improbable what if horror thoughts. Virgil hurt him and it doesn’t matter that he was trying to protect him, he isn’t like that, he can’t accept means ever justifying the ends. 

Maybe he is a Hufflepuff, because he certainly turns tail and runs away from his problems easily enough, sinking down and hiding away in his room without a word. 

It isn't perhaps a huge thing, and it isn’t the first time he has done something like that. It isn't the worst thing he has done, not by a long shot - but it is the worst thing he has done since being accepted. It is the worst thing he has done since he made that choice to try and be better. It is classic ‘old’ Anxiety, the one who only thinks of his own fears and insecurities, the one who doesn’t stop to let the others have their say. The one who is so arrogant and so convinced that he knows best in his worse case horrors. 

He ruined everything.

He’s _Anxiety_ , what was he doing thinking he could be anything other than that? What was he doing, play acting with the others, pretending he could be anything other than a blight upon Thomas, always ruining his attempts at having a decent life. He stopped him from doing what was right and it is scant comfort to know that Thomas is getting ready to go out now, that the others have managed to calm him down. He left the others to clean up his mess. He should have known better than to think that he could be _normal_. 

Virgil collapses onto his bed, his breath catching in his throat once more. The memory of Logan counting keeps him from losing control again completely and it isn’t much, but he won’t do that to Thomas, not again, not so soon. He rocks a little backwards and forward on his bed, hood still over his head, trying not to reach out, not to ruin this. 

Thomas’ visit to his friend, to nobodies surprise but Virgil’s, goes off without a single hitch. The person Virgil had been so worried about didn’t seem to even be in, Thomas’ friend was so happy to see him. Thomas had a great time and had come away feeling very happy and bursting with a whole new host of ideas for future videos. Thomas is content, and Virgil had come so close to destroying that before it could even begin. The self loathing, if it is possible, grows. It keeps on growing as the hours pass, as Thomas goes about the rest of his day, the others in the mind doing the same. 

The eventual knock - while expected - is still dreaded, Virgil flinching against the sound. He chews nervously on his lip, debating with himself about what to do. It is highly tempting to just ignore the knock, to hide under the covers and hope that the rest of the world just goes away but things never work out that way. 

Not to mention he deserves whatever they have to say to him. Virgil knows he behaved terrible and then ran away like a little child. The least he can do now, is listen to whatever justified anger filled words they have to say to him. The hood remains up, shadowing the top half of his face as he moves over to the door and pulls it slowly open. Logan stands on the other side. Virgil hadn’t expected that. Patton perhaps, revoking his welcome just like before. Roman maybe, with a sneer and words that would cut deeper than any sword could, fiery passion to match his reaction in the living room. Logan will be just as bad though, ice is as deadly as flames but Virgil knows he deserves it, knows he should take it. He had his chance, his one shot... and he knew it away. 

Eyes drop from the sight of the logical side, Virgil shuffling to the side to silently let him enter. He didn’t speak as he shut the door, didn’t speak as he returned to his bed, Logan just as quiet. The silence felt oppressive, unsettling, but Virgil didn’t know how to break it, what to say. At least, he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t turn out to just be pitiful begging that they not hate him and lies that he will never do it again - because he will of course. It is what he is. Virgil pulls up his legs to wrap his arms around them as he sits on his bed, staring at his knees as though the ripped jeans were the most fascinating thing in the world. The logical side is sat beside him, his back perfectly straight - something had to be - his hands primly palm down and resting on his thighs. 

“You are thinking that your actions today have invalidated all your progress,” Logan tells him calmly. Virgil draws in a shuddering breath, his whole body shaking with the movement but he still keeps silent. He deserves this, Virgil reminds himself. He deserves to hear all of this, to know what they really think. It feels a little jarring, he has to admit, how Logan is able to reach inside his mind and know exactly what he is thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Logan tilt his head a little to the side, waiting for a moment as if expecting an answer before pressing on.

“You think that we will reject you once more, that you will be forced back into your previous behavioural patterns, that you will be the outsider again.”

Try as he might to control himself, Virgil can’t held shuddering again, hunching deeper into his hoodie. His hands are clamped against his knees and in a way he is glad. If they were floating free, they would have found their way to the draw strings of his hoodie and tugged. Over and over until he had cut off all light and buried himself inside the hoodie, and that would just betray how badly he is hurting.

Although Virgil knows he deserves to hear all of this, he doesn’t want Logan to know how deeply his words cut. Not out of some foolish sense of pride or misplaced bravado, but simply because he didn’t want to hurt Logan but making him feel bad. While Logan would no doubt deny that he had feelings of any sort to be injured in that way, Virgil knew he was a good person, far better than he ever gave himself credit for. He would no doubt feel guilty to know he is hurting Virgil and Virgil really needs to say something - anything. Nod, agree, try and act calm, cut him off. Anything before Logan starts to suspect how much pain he is in. He needs to let go of his knees, but that is easier wished for than done. He keeps silent, and after another moment, Logan starts to speak yet again.

“You are incorrect.”

What?

“What?” His voice sounds hoarse, croaky and Virgil can’t help but flinch a little at the sound. It’s enough to make him look up at last though, tilting his head to peek out from the hood and at the other side. He is well aware that his eyeshadow has run a little from angry, frustrated tears at himself. He doesn’t look his best and he certainly doesn’t look calm but he can’t find it in himself to be worried about that, not when finding out what on earth Logan actually means is a far more pressing issue. Logan has the faintest of smiles on his face as he meets his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“We know you have bad days Virgil. We all have bad days, days when we allow ourselves to get the better of our functions. To even call it progress or a fall, is perhaps incorrect. You are merely relaxing around us and letting us see more of who you really are. There is nothing wrong in that, nor is there is anything wrong in being all parts of your personality, sharper elements included. As I said, we all have less than perfect behaviour and days at times.”

“Even you?” Virgil cannot help but challenge, try and find something wrong with the words, to poke and prod at them to determine their value. Out of everyone, he knows Logan will appreciate his words most of all, that he will relish a good debate and will be able to see points clearly. Anyone else would have simply said ‘yes’ to his question without really thinking about it but he trusts Logan. As expected, the logical side actually pauses, thinks about the answer instead of saying what he thinks Virgil might want to hear.

“I... well admittedly my days at fault are far lower than anyone else's. I am far less prone to any kind of cognitive distortion, and instead, am, quite literally the voice of reason...” Logan trailed off, his expression softening a little, Logan giving a soft gentle huff that might be a laugh, shaking his head in defeat. “There have been... moments however, when I have acted less than my best. Yes Virgil. Even me.”

Virgil had no idea what to say to this. They all had bad days sure, but their bad days were not harmful, not terrible, not on the scale that Virgil’s bad days were. 

“You think we will only care when you are on your very best behaviour, but if you force yourself to act in such a manner, then you will have more and more days when you are not on your best behaviour as the pressure becomes too much. We do not want a perfect, empty Anxiety... we want... we care for... our Virgil. Flaws and merits all in one.” 

“Roman looked like he was about to conjure a sword and attack me,” Virgil mutters, finally giving voice to one of his greatest fears as he thought back to the scene in Thomas’ living room and how Roman had stood there, staring at him. He can’t stand to think he might have destroyed the fragile peace they were building up around each other. He also can’t stand to think too deeply on what else Logan has said, not yet at least. He needs to let the words sink in properly, pick them apart very carefully and examine them, because he knows they are big, important words. That things have just been confessed that he cannot believe - they care for him even if or when he messes up. It’s easier to focus on anything else.

“Roman... is used to battling demons and monsters that have a physical form. He is less skilled at beasts that he cannot physically slay. His behaviour, while... unsettling from your perspective, was born out a desire to help you and the inability to do so.”

“Really?” Virgil hates how hopeful his voice sounds, betraying just how badly he wants those words to be true, even if he has to add them to the list of things he isn’t really ready to understand. Roman wanted... to fight _for_ him? 

“I have no logical reason to lie to you in this matter. While I was counting and Patton was creating a pattern for you to feel and follow, Roman was left unable to help you. I do believe very little effects him as deeply as that desire to help when he is unable to do so.”

“I...” Virgil can feel his throat closing up a little, a strange kind of panic that wasn’t panic at all, a sob wanting to slip free, and they cared. Roman cared. They all cared for him, not for if he was behaving the best he could and not causing any kind of trouble. 

“You are not alone. Nor are you in any kind of trouble. Not to mention, your actions, while not framed in the best possible way, were not born out of any malice or an attempt to cause pain for Thomas. Your desired outcome was to protect him, you were stressed and merely reverting back to tried and tested behaviour that got you the reactions you wanted and needed. It is not an excuse for your actions, merely an explanation. An apology is needed but nothing more.” 

“L... will you....” Virgil trails off, chewing on his lip again. He wishes things could transform from his mind into easily understandable words, struggling to find the ones he needed to explain what he wants. Thomas needs to know that he is so very sorry for what he did, but Virgil isn’t capable of saying that. Not in the state he is right now anyway, he will just mess things up even further than he already has. He doesn’t want to hurt Thomas at the best of times and certainly not with an ill thought out word because he was still worked up. It is a feeble excuse he knows that Thomas deserves an apology. 

“Thomas is not mad at you either Virgil,” Logan reassured him and okay, it was starting to get a little bit creepy, how easily he seemed to know time and time again, exactly what Virgil was thinking. “He is merely concerned that you will be blaming yourself when he holds no ill will towards you. If you like however, I will tell him you are sorry and then you can tell him yourself when you are recovered?” 

The suggestion makes Virgil sag a little in relief, finally able to pull his hands free from his knees. He flexes his fingers a few times, willing the blood to flow to white fingers once more, the softest hiss slipping free as feeling starts to return them. He hadn’t even realized how stiff they had become until he was trying to move them.

“Thank you, please,” he whispers after a moment, and he still doesn’t feel brave enough to pull his hood down, but he certainly feels better than he did a few minutes ago. “You all... really don’t hate me?”

“As Patton would put it... you’re family. We don’t hate you, I swear it.” Those words are like the best kind of soothing balm, washing over Virgil and filling in all the cracks that the last fight had created. Logan means it. And Logan would have never made such a claim unless he has already spoken to the others and gotten their agreements which means that they share his sentiment. They don’t hate him.

They really... don’t hate him. He didn’t mess everything up.

Virgil launches himself at Logan, unable to hold back any longer. Where a few seconds ago, his arms had been wrapped around his knees, they now find their way around Logan’s chest, hugging the other side fiercely, his head buried against his chest, cheek pressed against shirt and tie. Logan stiffens, and remains frozen in his hold for a long, awful moment. Long enough for Virgil to start to second guess himself, to think that this is a terrible idea. Long enough for him to start to pull back.

He only manages to put a fraction of an inch between them, just enough for Logan to realise what he is doing. It makes Logan belatedly spring into action, softening into the touch and lifting his own arms to hug Virgil back. They settle awkwardly on his back at first, one hand lightly patting against him as though unsure of how to offer the best type of reassurance. It makes Virgil shake, a soft giggle that could also be a sob slipping free as he imagines Logan’s face. How he would be so focused despite his own discomfort because he wanted to do this, wanted to be able to help. 

Just hugging him is comfort enough, something Virgil had never believed - dreamed yes, hoped yes, but realistically had never thought possible. 

There is no way to know how long they sit there, Virgil pressed as close to Logan as he can, before his arms finally start to ache from holding them up for so long. If his are aching, then it stands to reason, so will Logan’s. That is enough to make him finally, reluctantly, start to pull back from the hug. His heart has slowed to a reasonable beat, and Virgil feels a lot calmer now, in control of himself enough to finally pull his hoodie down, offering Logan a shy, tiny smile.

“Thank you.”

“Yes well...” It could be Virgil’s imagination, but he could swear that the tips of Logan’s ears were going just a fraction darker as he sat there, the faintest hint of a blush on the normally unflappable side’s face. 

“I will speak to Thomas briefly then if you want, I will return. We could read some of this month’s book club choice? You can read, and I will also read. Both of us in my room perhaps, you may bring a blanket if you desire.”

Virgil feels the smile on his face grow warmer at that, the awkward way in which Logan phrased it just so endearing, so very him when confronted by anything outside of his area of expertise. The smile is born out of meaning behind the words themselves as well, knowing that Logan is offering comfort in his own way and Virgil can’t deny, the thought of spending some time with one of them but not having to actually interact with them is amazing. He can just sit and read, be aware of Logan but not have to speak to him. Just let himself be settled by the close proximity of Logan, all safe in the logical sides room. 

“That sounds perfect.”

\--

There is a knock at his door.

It seems as though there is always a knock at his door these days. Always someone on the other side wanting to spend time with him, or talk to him or even just check he was still okay in there. Virgil would be lying if he claimed not to be touched by the clear concern they all have for him. And he hates his own weakness all the more in turn, how even now, more often than not he turns them down. Shuns them in order to be on his own, in his good moments and his... less good moments. 

Yet they still don’t give up on him. 

Apparently that is what families do. Patton has told him that, Thomas has told him that, even Logan told him that, helped him back on his feet when he would have given in to misery and self loathing. No doubt some enough Roman will find some way to tell him that. He had learnt that during the Hogwarts video, only to forget it at the first sign of trouble. He relearnt it after his visit from Logan.

It has been two days since his little melt down and bar a short visit to mumble an apology to Thomas, and sticking his head into the kitchen one afternoon to give Patton an apology of his own, Virgil has kept to his own room. Not because he is hiding, not really. He isn’t wallowing in self pity like they might have expected. Like he might have expected based on his past behaviour. He isn’t sulking either. It’s more like... putting some pieces of a puzzle into place. He needs the quiet of his room to snap the edges back where they belong, to work out how he fits together just that little bit more.

Even the breakfasts of the past few days have been abandoned, as Virgil fights to get himself back into some kind of sociable semblance, something that is capable of being around the other sides without feeling himself hunch up too badly. Maybe tomorrow. He would like to go down tomorrow. He would like to have breakfast with them again.

He hasn’t spoken to Roman yet. He doesn’t know how to, not after thinking he was going to attack and being told it was actually a desire to defend. He doesn’t know how to apologise to him of all sides without it coming across as sarcastic or terrible. Maybe he’ll figure it out tomorrow. Roman will almost certainly listen to him, will give him a chance because, as they keep telling him, they care about him. 

Virgil can’t help the little twitch of a smile that comes to him at the thought that they all care, something warm and giddy inside of his chest. He holds onto that feeling as he opens his door, to find the moral side waiting for him.

Patton gives him a hopeful look, holding up one of the character pieces from Clue. The purple character. Professor Plum.

“Virgil! We’re having a game night and we were hoping you might join us for a game or two? Whatya say Kiddo? Wanna come solve a murder?” 

Except it won’t be one or two. Once he goes down there, he will be trapped for the whole of the night because he will feel too guilty to leave. He knows none of them will say anything but they will have that look on their faces, the one that Virgil is so pathetically weak too. It is far easier to say no at the start and cut himself away from that rather than have to handle a night with them. The night itself will be fun of course, and he will enjoy being around them. It will be one of the treasured sets of memories that he keeps tightly locked away in his mind. 

But it will drain him and he will have to sacrifice some time with them down the line. If he has a night with them then he will probably wake up more tired than normal and not be able to have breakfast. He might not be able to face any more social interaction for a whole day and while they will understand, Virgil doesn’t want to do that. He doesn't want them to have to always understand him and how can he explain how important these breakfasts have become to him?

They started long before he was ‘officially’ accepted, they were the first moments of calm and dare he think it, love, without any strings attached that he has ever felt. They were how he had managed to survive for as long as he had, feeding off moments and pretending the smiles and kindness was directed at him and not just general softness from the embodiment of Thomas’ heart.

Except now he wonders if Patton had offered it on purpose, if he had realised long before Virgil, just how badly the anxious side had needed them. If the warm smiles and occasional touch of fingers against his hand as he handed him something had really been directed at him. He wonders if that spark he sometimes thought he saw on Logan's eyes whenever the two talked was real, was aimed at him, was born of genuine enjoyment at having someone to debate with. He even wonders if the peace between himself and Roman that would occur at breakfast could be something the of them wanted and not just to keep Patton happy.

Because these things are all still there in this new world. He still has touches, smiles, glances, peace within that little bubble but to a greater degree and he loves it. He loves the breakfasts, no matter how groggy and out of it he might be before he actually sits down. It doesn't matter how little - or more accurately, just none at all - sleep he might have gotten, on the days he is able to manage it, simply getting to that table makes the monstrous night worthwhile. How can he possibly risk all that? Virgil opens his mouth to refuse, as always, before shutting it again, a thought occurred to him. 

Patton picked up that piece before coming upstairs to make his normal offer. Picked up the _purple_ piece. 

Virgil isn’t so dense as not to notice the symbolic significance in that. 

Maybe he can risk an evening. Maybe he won’t be so bad in the morning and maybe they will understand either way. Maybe if it is bad, and he can’t face them, it won’t be the end of the world. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, he doesn’t want to have to keep refusing the invites. Virgil wants to play with them, wants to be in the charmed circle instead of at the top of the stairs or in his room, he wants to let his guard down. Part of the reason why he is tired all the time is because he has to hold his shields in place. Every night he finds himself rebuilding the wall despite himself, every night he covers up the cracks out of fear that any damage could bring the whole thing crashing down before he is ready. 

Perhaps he can pull a few bricks loose for them and actually leave them loose. It is never going to come down until he starts knocking it down and leaving it down. Virgil is never going to get to where he wants until he is willing to do that. His wants are an ocean and while he knows letting them all out at once will drown everything in its path, it will be okay - so he hopes and trusts - to let some of it out. He wants to be able to enjoy an evening with them, he wants to play games, he wants to laugh.

He wants to tell Thomas the truth.

The stray thought makes Virgil blink a few times, almost as though he needs the extra seconds to actually process the thought. All this time feeling sad or even, dare he think it, angry at Thomas for not remembering. All this time being too scared to risk telling him the truth, too scared that his host will think there is something creepy or wrong with him if he admits he had manifested on his own without Thomas’ direct input. 

Virgil doesn’t need to be scared anymore. 

They will understand. They will accept him. Just as they have promised so many times recently, just as they have proved with the Hogwarts video, with the offers to spend time with him, with the fact that they want him on his bad days as well as his good. They will love him for his flaws, not despite them.

He feels giddy all over again, stronger this time. It’s worse than any drunken state Thomas had ever gotten into and yet at the same time, it is so much _better_. 

“Kiddo?” It seems that Patton has noticed his little moment, worry on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I... yeah. You know what? I think I am,” Virgil breathed, a small, honest smile curling onto his lips, remembering the last time he had said just that, and meant it too. Things had been good then, and they would be good now. He was going to do this. He was actually going to do it and it was all going to be fine. Thomas was not the worst of his traits. 

“I have to do something first. I need... I need to talk to Thomas. Nothing bad, I promise. You can start without me if you like?” Virgil hates how hesitant his voice has become, that bubbly, confident feeling popping inside of him as he suddenly becomes aware of how strange the request has to sound, a sharp stabbing pain in his chest at the idea that they might think Anxiety was up to something. He isn't just Anxiety, he is Virgil too.

“Oh we can't do that Kiddo, we will wait don’t you worry! Roman can sing or we might put on an episode of Parks & Rec, and then when you are ready we shall play the game okay? We will wait.” 

And they will wait for him. 

It is more than Virgil knowing that. He _believes_ it. What a difference genuine belief makes. He is struck, all over again, as if for the first time, just how wonderful the other three are and how much he loves them all. How he has always loved them and finally it is okay for him to allow himself to feel that without shame or guilt or the ever present fear that they might find out. They did find out and things actually became better because of it. 

“Patton? Can you, um... can you promise not to look? And ask the others to do the same? I promise, I’m not going to be mean or anything, but I really need to talk to Thomas alone, it's not that I want to keep secrets from you, it is just kinda personal and I know that sounds weird since we are all parts of the same person bu-”

“Virgil.” Patton’s voice is soft but serious, his name sounding warm and comforting. The name alone is enough to make him stop talking. Before, he would have ducked his head, would have fixed his gaze pointedly at the floor until Morality had walked away. Before, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up all the tiny little details in that name. It isn’t disgust or anger or anything he might have once thought, when his own insecurities would have gotten the best of him and overwhelmed him completely. 

They are still there of course, his fears, his doubts. But they are a steady flowing river now instead of the torrential rainfall filled waterfall they had once been. There are no sharp rocks at the end of this journey. 

Slowly, carefully, Patton presses the clue piece into Virgil’s hand, his expression open and soft. 

“I trust you. We trust you. I know you would never hurt Thomas and if you wanna have a private conversation with him, that's okay. We won’t look.”

\--

He appears just as Thomas is settling down with a bowl of salted popcorn and some movie ready to go on his television.

“Hey Thomas?”

“Oh hi Virge... what's up?” Thomas has pitched his voice just a fraction lower, softer. It is clearly an attempt to put Virgil at ease, and that is just like his host to always think of someone else. Virgil feels something unpleasant inside of him loosen a little at that. It is one thing for Thomas to say over and over again that he has accepted the anxious part of his personality, it is another to see him prove that with his choices.

“I wanted to talk to you about something...” he trails off, internally cringing a little and that has to be one of the worst possible things you can say to someone with anxiety. It was ‘we need to talk’ and every other horror phrase that haunted his nightmares through the years.

“Talk to me about what?” Sure enough, the tone of Thomas’ voice has risen a few octaves, Virgil able to feel the slightest stirrings of concern rising up from the pit of his being. Thomas is starting to worry, which makes Virgil worry in turn. And Virgil worrying just influences Thomas back, a vicious circle that he needs to break before it can cause real harm. The other sides are counting on him. They trust him enough to leave him alone with Thomas and he is not going to let them down.

“Nothing bad!” Virgil blurts out, hands lifting in what he hopes is a comforting motion, although it is hard to judge since he has so little experience in comforting anyone. Most of it is when the person is already asleep and so he doesn't need to worry about reassuring them, just helping them as best he can. He is so bad at this.

It probably doesn't help that he still has the Professor Plum character in his hands, Thomas’ eyes flickering to look at it for a moment in confusion before focusing his gaze back on Virgil's face. He tries not to grimace, not wanting to panic him further, and if Virgil can just remain calm then hopefully so can Thomas. He needs to get back to the matter at hand, back to what really matters.

“I just... I need to tell you something important.”

“Okay...” Thomas still sounds a little unsure, looking at Virgil quizzically, but he doesn’t appear to be worried anymore. Confused, rather than anything but there is trust in his eyes, trust that Virgil isn’t sure he really deserves. Well. He is about to find out, one way or another. He has already broken almost every rule he has set himself over his long and lonely life. What is one more tossed aside? Virgil takes a deep breath. He can do this. It is just another little baby step but one that is far overdue. Thomas deserves to know the truth. He has deserved to know the truth for a long time now. 

“It's about my name.”


	25. We don’t belong to no one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, no I do have to, because it's about you. You were about, um, seven I think?” Virgil cringes a little as he speaks, hating how he has phrased it like a question, as though he doesn’t know to the day exactly how old Thomas was when everything changed. As if it wasn’t the most important day in his own childhood. He risks looking up after a moment, peeking at Thomas through his bangs. Thomas is sitting next to him, legs crossed, leaning forward slightly as if hanging on his every word. He is actually listening and that means the world to Virgil in turn. 
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil and Thomas talk, some secrets are revealed but others are kept hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _-Rises up like Mushu-_ This fic liiiiives! Apologies for the silence on this story, it got pushed to the backburner last month for a number of reasons, the main one being my new story which is coming out Thursday, not to mention I lost the start of this which killed my inspiration for a while at the thought of having to redo it. But I am happy to say that I am back! And focused on this story once more, I am so excited for the next couple of chapters and the twists and turns we have to look forward to. Enjoy this fairly soft, calm chapter. One might even call it the calm before a storm... 
> 
> Chapter title is from _Name_ by **The Goo Goo Dolls**.
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### We don’t belong to no one

** **

They continue to stare at each other, neither one speaking. They stare and they stare, neither seeming able to break the silence. Virgil knows he should go first because he is the one who started this whole conversation off with all manner of weird and confusing vague statements. He is the terror in the night, the cloud of ambiguous statements that keep you up at night with such classics as ‘we need to talk’. He is also the last one who spoke and that is how conversations work right, you take it in turns? Only his last thing had been an opening statement that didn’t require an answer from Thomas and so that meant it was still his turn.

Social interactions are _hard._

“Virge?” Thomas prompts at last, voice still soft, understanding and he must know how hard this is for his anxiety, to come and try and talk to him. Of course he knows, Virgil is part of him after all and if he is feeling nervous, then a little of that will spill over to his host. He just hopes he can keep it under control, because he doesn’t want to cause Thomas distress at the best of times. He really doesn’t want to cause him distress after asking Patton to trust him and promising to take care of their host, and that just makes his own worries spike a little, because it would be just his luck that he would fail this one time he had asked for a chance to prove himself. They will never trust him again if he messes up here. 

“I... I, um.” Virgil can feel his throat closing up as he tries to speak, a huge lump forming that refuses to go away, no matter how many times he swallows. Fingers play nervously with the zipper on one of his hoodie sleeves as he tries to speak, and this had all seemed so simple when he was in the safety of his own room. It was a conversation they needed to have and with the warmth and love of his little family at his back, Virgil had been fully prepared to tell Thomas the truth. 

Now though, standing in the real world with all his doubts and fears spinning around his mind and no Patton to smile at him, things are not so simple. It wasn’t as though Thomas was going to reject him, not because of one little - major - secret.

 _But what if he does?_ A voice asks, a hiss in the back of his mind that he has never been able to shake away. It is a voice that has protected him more often than not, a voice that stops him from just breaking time after time. It keeps him from getting his hopes up only to have them violently crushed once more. It is the same voice that told him he was unloveable, unworthy, the same one that whispered they would never want him. 

It was wrong then. What if it is wrong now?

_Are you really willing to risk everything on a what if? You’ve finally got him to trust you and now you’re going to tell him you’ve been hiding something this huge from him all this time?_

The urge to just tell Thomas to forget about it builds up in him and Virgil has always known he is a coward at heart. Thomas would probably let it go too, he wouldn’t want to push, not with how new and fragile their relationship still is. He would respect and trust Virgil, he wouldn’t try and force the issue because that isn’t the sort of person he is. Thomas would no doubt hope that if it was important enough to Virgil, he would come back and try again if he runs the first time.

He wouldn’t try again, not if he leaves now. The past is proof enough of that, and there are so many one off conversations he has never returned to face despite the threads that still dangle over his life, the shadows they still cast. 

There is still the option to just leave, to tell Thomas not to worry about it - which is another massive red flag and a terrible thing to say to someone who has anxiety. Virgil has already said enough to peak his curiosity however and he knows what his Thomas is like. His sweet, kind but ultimately an overthinking, indecisive mess of a host will let the possibilities fester inside of him. That is probably part of Virgil shining through there. He will worry and worry, until it spins off into a conversation with Patton or worse, an actual video and then Virgil will still end up telling him the truth only the others will hear it as well and it will come across as though he had been forced to share the information instead of wanting to tell the truth. He doesn’t want this to be a secret that spills out in public, nobody will ever believe that he wanted to tell Thomas if it ends up happening that way.

“Why don’t you come sit with me?” Thomas suggests, shifting a little on the large brown couch to give Virgil space to sit down without crowding him. You didn’t need a hosts connection to no doubt be able to tell Virgil was spiraling and badly. How he got so lucky as to have Thomas as his host is beyond him.

How Thomas got so unlucky as to have such a dysfunctional anxiety as an aspect of his personality is beyond him too. 

No, he isn’t thinking that, he won’t go down that road of negative thoughts, not today at any rate. Not now. They aren’t recording a video and so the pillar which would normally separate them all isn’t there, allowing Virgil to cautiously move down the step and into the living room proper. It still feels as though he is breaking some kind of unspoken rule by leaving his spot though. Unlike the other three, he has never left his spot in the real world by choice. At least, not that any of them are aware of. 

Virgil has always been good at pretending. Like all the sides, he is a good actor, because that element of Thomas burns so brightly in them all. He isn’t acting now, as he pauses two steps away from the stairs, suddenly disoriented. It’s light and Thomas is in the room, Thomas knows he is moving through his house and nobody is shouting at him, nobody is snapping that Anxiety should leave them all alone. 

Years of conditioning cannot be unlearned so easily but he is trying. They are trying, they are helping and he just needs to take an extra second to remind himself that this is okay now. They give him those extra seconds he so silently pleads for without question and for that, Virgil is greatful. He is more grateful about the fact they don’t ask why than he is about them actually doing it in the first place. 

Virgil never wants them to know how badly broken he really is.

Exhaling softly, he moves once more. Thomas smiles at him again. Warm, open, trusting and it still shakes Virgil to his very core to think that expression is directed at him. It’s different to Patton’s smile, which is in turn different to Logan’s and again to Roman’s. They are all beautiful in their own way and he takes another moment, this time to commit this smile to memory. He saves the image of it carefully away in his mind, in the hope that its warmth will help him on a bad day. 

He thinks he could never grow tired of seeing that smile from any of them, the expression making him feel almost giddy once more. It is like swallowing a shot of the most potent alcohol or perhaps a sip of the luck potion, _Felix Felicis_ from Harry Potter. He feels almost brave because of it. Virgil gingerly settles on the very edge of the couch, one harsh breath away from bolting again but the effects of that smile are still tingling away in him, enough for him to speak. 

“I, uh... so I might not have told you the whole story about my name,” he mumbles, staring down at his knees. He can’t see Thomas’ reaction but his brain can come up with all manner of ideas as to what it could be. Anger, or disgust. Worse, disappointment and he hates the idea that he might have let Thomas down more than almost anything else because what if he thinks Virgil had lied about his name? What if he decides he can’t trust him anymore? How can he do his job if Thomas decides not to listen to him at all?

“Oh. Okay Virgil, do... do you want to tell me the whole story? You don’t have to.” 

Bless Thomas. Bless him for always being so much better than the things his brain hisses to him and Virgil hopes one day, he will be strong enough not to hear them. Virgil knows he is ever so slowly getting better, that he is able to push through those negative thoughts more and more, but he longs for the day when he would not even hear the whispers. Or at least, to let them become nothing more than background noise. He nods and takes a deep breath. 

“No, no I do have to, because it's about you. You were about, um, seven I think?” Virgil cringes a little as he speaks, hating how he has phrased it like a question, as though he doesn’t know to the day exactly how old Thomas was when everything changed. As if it wasn’t the most important day in his own childhood. He risks looking up after a moment, peeking at Thomas through his bangs. Thomas is sitting next to him, legs crossed, leaning forward slightly as if hanging on his every word. He is actually listening and that means the world to Virgil in turn. 

Teeth catch at his bottom lip as he considers his next words carefully and while that whole night is seared into his memory, he doesn’t want to tell Thomas every little detail. Thomas doesn’t need to know that Virgil was hurt by the end of it, he doesn’t need to know how Deceit had told him not to even try. Thomas doesn’t need to know about those aspects of his personality that would only try and hurt him given the chance. He doesn’t need to know about the lies and the worse darkness that lurks within, the tide that wants to sweep them all away if only he would listen to them.

It isn’t Virgil’s place to decide which parts of Thomas he should or shouldn’t listen to. He doesn’t have that power anyway, he can’t hide other sides. Not like... not like Deceit can. It isn’t his place to make those kind of choices for his host and thinking like that had been part of the reason why he had failed so badly to make himself heard in the past. He thought he knew best and nobody else got a say. Besides, if he was judging purely on interactions from behind the scenes, from how they acted without Thomas knowing, then he certainly should never have been listened to. 

Thomas doesn’t want to know though. He’s never questioned himself like that, never wondered what was going on and Virgil is a coward, but he doesn’t want to face Deceit anytime soon, he is happy staying in the areas of the mind that the snake skinned side has difficulty reaching. He is afraid Deceit will hate him. Worse than that, he is afraid Deceit will hate him and he will feel bad about it. 

Virgil shakes his head, forcing himself to focus back on the matter at hand. He can worry about his lingering guilt and confusing relationship with Deceit another time when he isn’t half way through telling a very important story. Virgil smiles as he remembers what came next, how he had gone to see Roman. 

“You had a headache. You were in so much pain and I couldn’t stand that, the whole mind was shaking and I was so worried for you. I came to see you. Roman, well, he just Creativity then, he let me borrow one of his stuffed toys because surprise, I was terrified at the thought of going on my own but I knew if I had Mrs Fluffybottom with me then I had two people to protect and I could do something scary if it meant looking after people.” 

The smile faded a little from Virgil’s face as he thought about the morning after, when he had lost the rabbit and how _angry_ Creativity had been, how he had been convinced Anxiety had done it on purpose, that he had been trying to hide his crime or worse, that he had been trying to hide Mrs Fluffybottom away so that he can have her all to himself, forever and ever. 

As if he would really have been that selfish. That toy was loved by both of them and even back then, he would never have wanted to hurt Creativity by damaging that, he would never have been that petty. Or that greedy, to think that he deserved her all the time. His room had always been dangerous, even when they were children and she wouldn’t have been safe living with him. Virgil hadn’t lied just now - keeping the people and things he loved safe was by far the most important thing to him. Creativity should have known that.

He can understand however, looking at that moment from a distance, why Creativity thought what he did, and it was always so easy to blame Anxiety for anything that was broken or went wrong. Mostly because he tended to be the side of Thomas that was pessimistic, that pointed out the flaws inherent in whatever they were doing. He knew things could - would - go wrong and had no problem with listing them, and becoming a self fulfilling prophecy in the process. A lot of the time it was his fault too. Not that time. Not when it came to her. He hopes that Creativity was able to fix her, that she is whole and happy in his room.

Not for the first time, he wonders if Crea- if Roman ever forgave him for what happened. Because Roman isn’t the same side he was when they were kids, just as Virgil hopes that he isn’t the same Anxiety. 

For the first time however, he actually considers asking him and trying to explain what really happened. He had never really tried but things were different now. Roman might actually listen to him. Not right now, but... but soon. Maybe. If this went well. He’s not held her since that day and although he’s an adult side now, and supposedly more mature, he still kind of really wants to hug that old rabbit tight.

“So what did you do?” Thomas asks, bringing his thoughts back to now.

“Huh? Oh, well... there wasn’t much I could do, it’s not like I could cure you. I don’t know what my plan was, I just felt like... I had to be there, you know? I thought if I was just with you, so you weren’t alone. So I just sat with you while you slept...” 

Lies. Lies, lies, _lies_. 

It makes him feel sick to his stomach and he is amazed that Deceit hasn’t appeared, out of sight of Thomas of course, lurking in the corner of his vision, basking in the power that Virgil is still giving him. This had been the perfect chance to break some of that control and power but he couldn’t tell the truth. He couldn’t tell Thomas that he had been stealing his pain for decades now, as well as stealing away the headaches from the other sides. Thomas might be angry, might want him to stop and Virgil - well, Virgil can’t do that. 

He can feel his own nerves build and part of him wants Deceit to just pop up right now, so it is at least over and done with. He can handle a horrible thing when it is actually happening, a lot better than waiting for said horrible thing to happen. Of course, Deceit knows that, he knows all of Virgil’s little quirks, all the many weaknesses that haunt him. He knows just how to push his buttons. He is patient too, far too patient, he knows how to make Virgil sweat without having to lift a gloved finger. 

Maybe he is waiting for Virgil to go back to the mind before he sneaks and slinks his way into his room, to leave his mark. Maybe Virgil isn't even worth that, maybe he is finally done with him after all this time and he has found better friends. 

Virgil hopes he has found some friends. He doesn’t like the thought of his old friend being alone, being sad. It wasn’t a healthy friendship, it wasn’t even a good one. But that doesn’t mean he likes the idea of Deceit being unhappy or sad because Virgil has managed to find a better home for himself. He has worked hard and suffered so much to be able to find this place for himself, a place that he knows Deceit would never have let him gain if he had stayed there. He wouldn’t have been happy if he had stayed but there are still moments - many of them, too many for him to list - when he feels as though he has let him down somehow. 

That it is his fault that the friendship wasn’t enough, his fault that it was dark and dangerous. If only he had tried to take Deceit with him, had worked harder at trying to bring him towards the light sides then maybe they could have all been a family together. Mayne not. Certainly not. Deceit would never have allowed that. 

He shifts a little on the couch, thoughts of Deceit almost always provoke a physical response in him but he shouldn’t be thinking of him now. He is in the middle of a very important confession after all. Fingers twist together in countless little patterns, movements growing more and more agitated as he forces himself to skip over a huge part of the night and move to the end. 

“You woke up at one point. You looked at me and... and, um, you called me Virgil. I didn’t... I didn't have a name before then.”

Thomas’ eyes have grown progressively larger as he spoke, wider and wider as he hung onto every word spoken. He gives a little gasp, just as anyone should at hearing a good twist. Some part of Virgil likes that. Thomas has always been a good listener, he always knew the right reaction to give during a story. He just doesn’t know what the right reaction is now the story is over. He doesn’t even know exactly what he wants Thoams to say or do, but he can feel his shoulders relaxing a little, because at least the truth is out there. Just like his name. 

His host shifts, jumping up from the couch in one smooth movement and heading for the stairs. Abandoning Virgil mid confession and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He has seen Thomas’ back more times than he can count after all. Virgil still couldn’t help the tiny flinch he gave at the movement. Had he chosen wrong after all? Had he lost what he had so recently gained? 

Thomas must be able to pick up on his emotions because he skids to a stop, twisting a little to look behind him. He has that same smile on his face, the warm, reassuring smile that promises that somehow, everything is going to be okay. 

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Thomas promises before darting up the stairs and out of sight. He’s been gone barely five seconds before Virgil can feel reality warp around him. He doesn’t even try and fight it, just sighs and lets the currents move him as they want, reappearing on Thomas’ bed, sitting on the edge of it, his legs swinging loosely back and forth. His host is just turning away from his closet, an old journal held in his hands, the young man physically jumping in shock at the sight of him. 

“You do remember I’m a part of you,” Virgil tells him, trying to resist the urge to insult or add some sarcastic comment. He can’t help the slight smirk, one side of his lips twisting upwards and he even if he could have, he wouldn’t. He might be softer now, but he still needs to keep Thomas on his toes, he still needs to make sure the reflexes are in top condition. Hand lifts to give him a little mock salute of greeting. 

“I am part of your personality, where you go, I go, remember?” 

“Yeah, sure, I knew that.” Thomas lifts a hand to press against his racing heart, offering Virgil a slightly fainter smile than before. “You certainly didn’t actually scare me right then.”

The room seems to flicker for a split second. It is barely there, almost non-existence, and Thomas didn’t seem to have noticed it at all. A single flicker and yet Virgil had seen it. Virgil knew full well what it meant. It was one thing for a side to lie. That gives Deceit power sure, but it is nothing compared the power that he gains when _Thomas_ lies. 

He breathes out, trying to calm himself. It was only one flicker. One tiny moment, one tiny little seed of energy. Of course, all the tiny moments build up in the end, build up into something that Deceit might be able to use. No, he can’t let that happen. Virgil just needs to try and keep Thomas as honest as possible. Which shouldn’t be hard, Thomas is a good person and his lies are not nearly as numerous as the lies his sides tell. Everything will... hopefully... be fine. 

“Anyway, I wanted to show you this. It’s one of my books from when I was seven.” 

“You found this specific book pretty quickly,” Virgil comments and he knows how many books there have been over the years, filled with Roman’s hopes and dreams. Creating so many worlds for Thomas to play in and growing ever more powerful as a result. 

“Yeah, I dunno, I’ve been feeling a little more... nostalgic lately, I wanted to look through my old stuff I guess.” Thomas shrugs a little as he speaks before moving forward to sit on the bed next to Virgil once more. It still takes Virgil’s breath away a little, knowing Thomas wants to sit next to him. He watches as Thomas flicks through the book, offering it to him as a specific point. 

Virgil runs his fingers over the page, for once not even bothering to guard his expression. He... he remembers this page. He remembers looking at the list of names for a moment and wondering what Creativity was working on now, before the reality of the moment shocked him back into taking care of Thomas and he had forgotten about them, too wrapped up in the first headache he had taken. There is his own name, in Thomas’ childhood handwriting. It is circled and he doesn’t recall it looking like that. 

“I remember that night,” Thomas tells him. Virgil’s head snaps up on its own accord and it is his turn to stare with wide eyes. Thomas... he remembers? How can... he has never given the slightest hint to Virgil that he remembers, that he was aware at all of such a life changing event. What if he is just saying that to try and make Virgil feel better? He found this book too quickly for that to be the reason though, he had known which book he needed and had headed right for it, aware of which night Virgil had been talking about.

All the questions, worries and thoughts spin around in his mind and yet he can only manage one word in response.

“What?” 

Thomas shifts a little, a soft, almost nervous laugh slipping out from him. He looks down at the book with an almost fond expression on his face. 

“Not properly. I thought it was a dream or something. Someone who looked like me, but wasn’t a part of me that I knew. He came to protect me and I felt.. I felt so safe. I don’t know what you did but you just being there made me feel safe and loved. I wrote stories about you, take a look.” 

Virgil turns the pages. Sure enough, there is page after page of stories of a ‘Virgil’ who helps people in trouble, who protects those smaller and weaker than him. This version of him sounds nothing like the actual side he is, this Virgil is good and kind and always thinking of others. He is brave and does the right thing no matter the cost. He is the hero Virgil always wishes he could be. A lot of the time Virgil is the sidekick to a Prince and as the stories grow in complexity, he can see the Prince start to become more important, while Virgil starts to slowly fade away. That, at least doesn’t surprise him. 

After all, Roman was always going to be the hero. 

That was just the way things worked. Virgil accepted that, even approved of it at times. Roman was everyone’s hero. Even Virgil’s, although he would rather eat a lemon than have to admit that out loud where someone could hear. At least Roman didn’t try and take the role over completely, didn’t make the two the same character. That would have been awkward, if they had both been Virgil. Instead he had let the Virgil of Thomas’ stories remain his own character, he had let Virgil remain. 

Their meeting had meant something to Thomas too. It takes his breath away and never, in his wildest dreams had he even come close to thinking that the night would have been important to his host. He can feel himself want to cry, but these tears aren’t ones of sorrow or frustration. They feel different, new and not wholly unpleasant. Virgil isn’t going to cry in front of Thomas, no matter how buffeted by his emotions he is. Things were easier when he just repressed and ignored all of his more wild emotions and pretended nothing they said hurt or helped him.

Not better. But easier. 

“Oh, I just realised something.” Thomas looks completely horrified, eyes wide and scared. The type of scared that Virgil needs him to be sometimes, but not right now. “All those times I asked for your name and I was the one who had originally given it to you. That must... oh Virgil, that must have hurt.”

“Well... maybe a little bit,” Virgil admitted, and ok that had to be one of the biggest understatements he has ever said but it isn’t a lie, not as such. It did hurt a little, and then a lot more than a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He is as well, Virgil can _feel_ the honesty radiating off him, the concern and this was one of the reasons why he had always been so hesitant to tell him. He knows Thomas, he knows how bad it will make him feel to think he might have caused pain. Even if it was pain that was deserved, even if it hurt someone as pathetic as Virgil. Thomas still cares.

His face must be so red behind his white foundation. Virgil shifts again, growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute. This isn’t what he wants - he isn’t quite sure what he wants from telling Thomas this, only that making Thomas feel bad or guilty or anything negative, isn’t it. He shrugs, finally closing the book, fingers curling around the edge tightly. 

“We were seven dude, it’s no big deal.” 

“It _is_ a big deal,” Thomas corrected gently. He leans forward and places his hand over Virgil’s own, the two of them holding the book now. There are no cameras, no walls here. Which means when Thomas wants to touch, he can. Virgil drawls in a shaky breath, trying to center himself. He is getting better with physical contact but again there is a difference between one of the other sides touching him and Thomas doing it. Thomas who carefully moves a fraction, curling his hand around Virgil’s own, fingers enwinting so they are holding hands. 

If he wasn’t blushing before, he knows for sure that he is bright red now. He stares at their joined hands without blinking until the image starts to grow blurry from the way his eyes are wide open and watering. Better that than actual tears. 

“Thank you,” Thomas tells him and despite himself, Virgil can’t help but blink a couple of times to flick away the water before looking up, meeting his gaze doubtfully. “Thank you for looking after me all these years Virge. Thank you for watching my back and making sure I was safe. You really can be a good guy.” 

For a moment, Virgil is tempted to tell him the missing parts of the story, to prove just how much of a good side he really is, how well he has kept him safe over the years. Thomas would have had so much more pain if it wasn’t for him. Virgil doesn’t of course. He knows now that Thomas won’t be mad at him, but that isn’t what Virgil is afraid of anymore. 

Thomas will no doubt be worried for him, will be concerned. He might even tell him to stop and Virgil knows now, with a clarity he didn’t have before that he can’t allow that to happen. Because Thomas is right. He did look after him all this time, he protected him, he kept him safe. He will keep doing that. He will take every headache, big and small, because Thomas deserves the best.

“What... ever. Dork.” Virgil replies at last, Thomas merely chuckling and it strikes him that Thomas knows him well by now. He knows that is his own stunted way of expressing his emotion and approval for things. It is as good as Thomas is going to get and yet it seems to be enough for him, if that shy smile is anything to go by. 

Does he know him well enough to know when he is hiding something? Virgil is going to have to be careful from here on in. He can’t have Thomas working it out, but at least there is one less secret to carry on his shoulders. One less thing to worry about keeping hidden. 

“Anyway, I have some reruns of _The Office_ to watch and I’m pretty sure you have a game or something?” 

For a moment, Virgil isn’t sure what he means, until he remembers the game night, remembers Patton and that the other three are waiting for him. He clicks his fingers on his free hand, the small purple piece appearing in his grip before a new thought occurs to him. 

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be going out tonight? You haven’t forgotten have you?” Virgil allows himself to take on a teasing, almost playful tone to his voice, all the while hoping that it isn’t the case because he doesn’t want to have to kick in. But now that he thinks about it, he is sure that Thomas had a date with his boyfriend tonight, Roman had been so excited about it when they had first arranged it, instantly skipping off to plan some ridiculous romantic gesture. 

Virgil tries to avoid getting too involved with that sort of thing, because the last thing he wants is for his influence to grow too strong and ruin whatever date Thomas is currently on. 

“Oh no, he had to cancel, something came up.”

Something seems... off about that statement. It isn’t a lie, not exactly. It isn’t feeding into Deceit in any way but it still seems wrong somehow. Maybe it is the way it is phrased, that slight hesitation, the little dip at the end that made it come across as an uncertain question. Maybe it was the way Thomas had let go of his hand, his skin suddenly feeling a chill at the absence. 

“Oh... okay,” Virgil replies at last, frowning a little as he stares at Thomas, trying to work out what it is about those words that are setting a number of alarm bells ringing shrilly in his mind. 

“Thanks for trusting me with the truth Virge.”

He ducks his head a little, forgetting about his momentary doubt, about the strange little twist in Thomas’ voice, the alarms slipping into silence because this is the acceptance he still craves like a drug. Virgil offers him his normal salute and sinks back into the mind, grin growing at the sight of the other three all relaxing on the couch. He lets himself feel their smiles and tries to ignore the growing knot of uncertainty that is building now that he is away from Thomas, now that he isn’t distracted by nice words and compliments. He tries to not think about what that something could be, tries not to imagine Thomas watching his show alone instead of on a date with his boyfriend, while the four of them have fun. 

Everything is fine. 

Finally, after all these years, everything is fine.


	26. These lines of lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He doesn’t even bother to cover his mouth, for once not ashamed of the sounds of joy he is making. There is no weakness to be found here, no shame in letting people know how he feels. Virgil is okay with letting everyone else learn how happy he truly is in this moment, his previous worries about needing to be useful lost in the rush of adrenaline the collapsed Twister game has brought. Around him, he hears laughter from the others as they joy in, all as light headed and as happy as he sounded.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Things are good - right up until they aren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the wonderful comments you left, I’m so happy to hear you are all still with me on this insane ride this story has become. We are starting to slowly kick into a bit of a higher gear, the next handful of chapters are going to deal with some good - I hope - stuff. And start to answer a few more questions after all this time.
> 
> And only in this story could there be hundreds of words about Virgil obsessing over a game of _Clue..._
> 
> Chapter title is from _Accidently in Love_ by **Counting Crows**.
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### These lines of lightning

** **

The game is actually a lot of fun.

He is on edge for most of it of course, waiting for the conversation between himself and Thomas to be brought up and for someone to demand that he either explain what the conversation had been about or why he had been sneaking into their hosts room when they were children. A guilty conscience no doubt. 

Nobody says a word and although he catches Roman giving him a slightly odd look now and then, he is able to put it down to simple curiosity instead of an angry side demanding answers. Curiosity is alive and well in most of them after all, just in different ways. Logan is always curious to learn new things for their own sake. Patton is always curious to discover better ways of expressing his love. Roman is curious to know what people think of him and anything he might be missing out on. Remy is curious to know all of the latest gossip so he is always up to date. As for Virgil, well. He is often curious to know just how terribly something is going to end so he can prepare himself accordingly. 

They all seem to have respected his privacy, even Roman and despite hoping that they will, it still comes as a nice surprise to realise he has been right for once when it came to something good. That doesn’t stop the knots forming in his stomach of course, still waiting for the other shoe to drop or his concern for Thomas to grow into something tangible, something he can use. Until then, there is the game and the sensation of being in the room with the other three without fighting. 

He works out pretty quickly who the killer is. Or at least, he thinks he does. 

Mr Green, with the Lead Pipe in the Billiard Room. 

The only problem is Patton is Mr Green and he doesn’t want to hurt his feelings by accusing him of being the killer if it turns out he is wrong. He also doesn’t want to hurt his feelings by accusing him of being the killer if it turns out he is _right_. Which is... stupid, he knows. It’s just a game and Patton isn’t really Mr Green, because Patton wouldn’t hurt a fly. Virgil still doesn’t want to accuse him, because he also doesn’t want to get on Logan or Roman’s bad side. They both turn out to be competitive even in a so called friendly game and Virgil can feel a tiny surge of anxiety swirl around in his gut everytime one of them has a turn and gets a little too into it.

Every now and then, that little pulse of nerves attached itself to the knots in his stomach, and lets them grow larger and larger. He can handle it. He has handled larger worries before and there is an easy enough solution. He will just let one of them win and then hopefully neither of them be too upset, either with him or with each other. 

Virgil breathes out, something slow and steady as it is his turn again. He makes sure to take his time, rolling the dice, glancing at the board and then at his cards, before back at the board. His little purple character moves into the library. He shuffles the cards in his hand a few times, as though examining them carefully and trying to decide on his next move. Which is, in reality, the truth. He can’t make the accusation and potentially win the game, thus depriving any of the others a hard earned victory. Which means he needs to come up with some guess that sounds right enough but isn’t.

He looks up and away from hsi cards after a few moments, words dying in his throat. Logan is frowning at him a little through his glasses, Virgil swallowing heavily as he looks away. His mind is spinning, grabbing at the first plausible combination he can think of.

“Uh, I suspect Professor Plum, with the candlestick in the library.” 

He realises a second too late that he has the candlestick card in his hand, that Logan had asked about it last time it had been the logical sides turn. Logan’s frown deepens, and Virgil can almost see the wheels turning in his head, how he is putting the pieces together to make a picture. The right picture, as much as Virgil wishes otherwise. He knows Virgil is a coward, that he is lying - or worse, he will think Virgil is stupid, that he can’t work anything out, that he is dumb enough to actually make that kind of mistake honestly. He doesn’t know which accusation from Logan would be worse.

Who needs an enemy to fight when his own mind will kill him for him? 

“Ah ha! I have the library, you are wrong Purple Rain!” Roman looks far too proud of himself as he waves the corresponding card in the air.

Logan is still frowning, and so he starts preparing his lines of defense. Virgil will just say he doesn’t properly understand the rules, its believable enough - he hasn’t actually played this game before tonight because who would he play it with? That would just upset Patton of course, he would start wailing something about how his strange dark son deserves better and he would fight him with love, as though that would magically change the past and fix all the ugly holes in him. 

Would Virgil have liked a better childhood? Of course. He would have loved to have grown playing these kind of games. He would have loved to have sat down and chatted about games from before, to groan with good humour because ‘oh no, not _that_ game again’. He would have loved to have grown up surrounded by people he could trust, people who weren’t constantly trying to work out how and what they could get from you. He would have loved to have not cried himself to sleep more often than not. 

His wishes didn’t change the reality of what it was like and so Virgil didn’t see the point in focusing on them, not when he could be focusing all of his effort onto not messing the present up. He didn’t want to go back into the cold, which meant he needed excuses if Logan asked why he had made that suggestion. He could say he was trying misdirection, make them think it was the candlestick so he can win. Tactics! 

To his surprise, Logan doesn’t actually call him out on his mistake, the logical side merely clearing his throat and lifting a card from his hand, showing Professor Plum. They move on, Virgil feeling a tiny flicker of relief once the attention is off him again and he can melt back a little into the shadows, where he belongs. He watches them all out of the corner of his eyes, drinking in every little motion as though this is the first time he has ever seen them this relaxed. 

Sure he’s sat at the top of the stairs in the dark and the silence, watching scenes like this play out countless times. Now he is actually in the scene though, now he is part of it and they have simply moved and made room for him, opening up a space where he hadn’t thought was possible. They have simply shifted and adjusted to make space for him and somehow it is working. Virgil had never imagined it would work and yet here they all are. Together. 

In the end, it is Logan who makes the accusation. Mr Green, with the Lead Pipe in the Billiard Room. Patton of course - _of course_ \- isn’t offended by it, simply giggling and promising he is nothing like that and that he will prove it next time. He certainly doesn’t mind that someone else said his character was the killer. Then again, maybe it is just because it is Logan who ends the game and he knows Logan doesn’t mean any harm. There goes his overactive imagination again, finding flaws and double meanings where there are none. 

Roman packs up the game, Virgil nervously playing with the edges of his hoodies cuffs, unsure of what he is supposed to do now. The creative side had waved him away with a smile that not even Virgil’s paranoia could twist into something negative when he had tried to help tidy up. Patton is half in a cupboard looking for something, Logan a few steps behind him, collecting all the boxes he has tossed and stacking them neatly. They all have something to do, all of them but Virgil who is stood there, his hands in his hoodie, feeling a little lost. 

Which leaves him something at a loss and he is used to either arguing or doing something - hopefully something useful - to justify his being there. Even if it is as simple as eating or playing a game, at least he is fulfilling a role and he doesn’t really know what to do with the space he has been given, Virgil chewing slightly on his bottom lip as he considered the problem. They don’t mind him being here, he knows and believes that but there is still that whisper in his mind that he should be doing something so they don’t regret their choices. 

Should he go? Patton had only invited him down for the game of Clue and the last thing Virgil wants is to have found out he outstayed his welcome. Plus, he does want to have enough energy left over for breakfast tomorrow morning. 

“Twister!” Patton shrieks, forgetting yet again, the concept of an indoor voice and dragging Virgil away from the tempting spiral of negative thoughts and back to the moment at hand. The moral side is out of the cupboard now, waving the box of the aforementioned game in his hands as though it is some kind of flag. “Let’s play!” 

He looks so happy though, so deliriously happy to be playing with them all and Virgil doesn't have it in him to remind him that he had only agreed to one game and he had been thinking about calling it a night because of his own self doubts and worries. Not to mention he doesn’t actually want to go. Not now he is here, not even knowing that he might pay the price tomorrow morning. He is actually having fun and as selfish and as weak as that might make him, he wants to hold onto these moments for as long as they last. 

How sad is it though, that even a night he would classify as ‘fun’ is still littered with angry thoughts at himself? What must it be like to not hate yourself? One day, when he can work out how to ask it without getting a terrible reaction, he will have to ask Patton that question. Now though, there is Twister, the mat spread out in front of him. 

There is a lot of physical contact in Twister. Which isn't a bad thing of course, and he is getting better at handling all the casual touches in his life, the random little pats on the back of brushing up against his shoulder. Virgil would even claim that he was used to it now but it is another thing completely to be dealing with all the contact that goes on in this game and despite both his and Logan’s best efforts, they all still end up twisted and bent all over each other, Logan muttering something about a lack of dignity and how grateful he is that there are no cameras recording this. 

Virgil isn’t even sure how it happened, he had started with such a good game plan in mind, determined to keep to his own little corner of the mat, no matter what, so that he wouldn’t be in the way. He has all four colours and pretty much two whole rows to work with so he didn’t need to get tangled up in the rest. It had derailed in about three moves, when first Patton and then Roman had reached out over plenty of empty spaces in order to use the spaces closer to him, forcing Virgil to go further out as a result. 

He knows they are just fictional representations of a human being, several parts of a whole, but they are still technically bound to follow basic rules of how the world works. Gravity for example, or the fact that they get hungry. Virgil is pretty sure however, that humans cannot bend in the manner they are all bending as they twist themselves into all manner of outrageous poses in a bid to obey whatever combination the spinner tells them to. He doesn’t worry about loosing. Not right now, not when he has to think, and plan and then hold the position he has chosen, Virgil’s tongue flicking out between his lips as he focuses on staying upright.

Roman stretches out, trying to reach green with his left hand as the spinner tells him too, wobbling dangerously as his whole body tries to find his center of balance once more. Virgil sees it happen about a split second before it does, realising too late that there is no way Princey can make that connection, that he is going to bring them all crashing down. Roman wobbles too far to the right, his arm giving way and dropping him. He hits the others and like domino's they all tumble, falling into a pile of legs and arms, Patton at the bottom and Roman at the top. Somewhere in the middle is Virgil.

For a moment, it feels as though he is somewhere else too, doing a balancing act of a different sort. He is wobbling dangerously and Virgil knows he is going to fall. The only question is which side is he going to be on when he does? Where is he going to land? Things could go one of two ways. Virgil’s instinctive reaction is of course, to go with the negative side, to glower and be gloomy, to push himself free and scurry back to his room until someone coaxes him back out, convinced that they hate him for this. 

He doesn’t want to do that and he realises - he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t have to be the bad guy, he doesn’t have to be angry, especially when he isn’t angry. Especially when, actually, he finds the whole situation funny.

All this speeds through his head in the time it takes to draw in a single breath. A soft giggle slips from his mouth, and then another and another. Virgil laughs, something lighthearted, forgetting that he is meant to be the dark, mysterious moody type, and not do anything as human as laugh.

It hard to be moody when he actually having so much fun.

He doesn’t even bother to cover his mouth, for once not ashamed of the sounds of joy he is making. There is no weakness to be found here, no shame in letting people know how he feels. Virgil is okay with letting everyone else learn how happy he truly is in this moment, his previous worries about needing to be useful lost in the rush of adrenaline the collapsed Twister game has brought. Around him, he hears laughter from the others as they joy in, all as light headed and as happy as he sounded. Even Logan chuckles as Roman climbs out of the pile first to allow the others to escape. 

Virgil rolls lazily onto his back, feeling the plastic of the mat against his head. He stares up at the ceiling, a soft smile still on his face. Part of Virgil wishes he could just stay in this moment forever, where he feels light and happy, where he is surrounded by love from them all and feels able to accept that love. He wants to lie on this Twister mat and just exist like this for the rest of eternity and never have to worry about anything, ever again. 

He’s never normally been a fan of that mindset, the idea of a perfect moment and wanting to capture it, to never look beyond such a moment. It had always seemed rather silly to him and while the future was a terrifying looking beast of certain disappointment and failure, the past was a dimly lit swamp with ghosts just waiting to grab you by the ankle and drag you down into the murky water with them, where you could kick and scream all you liked but were never able to escape. 

The present was both of those things at once, and so the last thing Virgil had wanted, was to stay in any one moment for longer than he absolutely had to. Then again, he has never really had that many good moments and why would anyone want to stay in a moment of terror and fear forever? Especially when the present can apparently feel like this. 

With a soft little sigh, he breathes out, letting the giggles slowly float away up and above him. It feels a little as though he is floating too, somewhere high and safe where none of the bad decisions from his life can so much as touch him. Around him, the laughter slowly stops but even that isn't enough to disrupt this good feeling within him. He still feels their laughter as though it was some tangible real thing and the memory of the sounds comfort him, let him know that he isn’t alone.

“Here, my fallen companion, let me aid you!” 

Virgil blinks a few times, staring up at Roman who is standing beside him, hand outstretched, offering it willingly to him. Companion. Not foe. It doesn't matter how often it has happened lately, Virgil still makes a mental note everytime one of them refers to him in a positive light, every time one of them calls him a friend.

They still have a way to go before they even come close to reaching the tally total of the times he had felt insulted or degraded but at least the positive numbers are slowly growing. 

He doesn’t answer Roman, simply staring up at him, enjoying the situation, the sensation of just being happy although there is a very faint wailing noise in his head, a warning that Roman might misinterpret his silence as something negative when in reality he is just so happy. Virgil can’t bring himself to really worry about it though, the faint but visible smile still on his lips as he simply stares up at him, idly committing this moment to memory. He watches the way Roman blinks as he looked down, watches the way the smile shifts into something confused for a moment before coming back as bright as before.

“Do you trust me?” Roman asks, voice dipping lower, bending in time to the words as though he really is Aladdin. 

Virgil could never say no to that face. Not to mention, he does, in fact, trust him. With most things. With himself, which is easy. With Thomas, which is hard. He takes the offered hand, letting Roman pull him back to his feet in one smooth motion, almost leaping into the air with the force of the tug. The creative side’s grip is surprisingly strong - but is it surprising? The prince spends his time battling demons and all manner of foul beasts in the imagination so of course he would be strong. Thomas has made him strong by letting him run wild as he does, growing ever more powerful as a result. 

“My hero. Thanks Princey.” Virgil is only half sarcastic in his words, and he is grateful that he is no longer lying in the mess of tangled limbs and sides. Roman is also his hero but it is easier to say that and pass it off as a joke rather than have to actually say it in a serious manner. 

For a moment, he could have sworn that the faintest hint of a blush dusted Roman’s cheeks at his words, before the idea was dismissed as yet another example of his over active imagination running riot. It would be nice - or at least easy - to blame that on Roman too, that his strength in the imagination has been passed on to Virgil but he doubts it is that simple.

If he was strong like Roman, he would rather it be with courage or something he could use to actually fight the demons that plague him or worse, the negative thoughts that are able to slip past him to attack Thomas directly. He doesn’t want to be stronger as a villain, to have more power when it comes to the darker elements, the voices and cries that even now try and whisper their lies to him. 

Not when he has other, more important things to be thinking about. Like the fact that they are still technically holding hands, Virgil’s eyes lowering to look at them, able to feel Princey’s heat seeping into his own cold fingers the longer they stand here. Virgil can’t deny that it feels... nice, to have this physical connection and now that the initial split second of shock and surprise at being touch has worn off, he finds he can cope with it very well indeed. 

He can't hear the lies of his own mind while they are holding hands as if the warmth of the contact is creating some kind of shield that protects him. It's a good thought. Virgil isn’t used to good thoughts, but he likes this one, and it makes his crooked smile grow as he glances back at Roman. 

“The day is saved!” Roman proclaims, and Virgil refuses to let himself hear the way the words sound slightly forced, almost awkward. He is having good thoughts, a good time and he will not fall down again so rapidly. Even as Roman lets go of his hand, the skin chilling again almost instantaneously. 

The creative side took a step back, absently fiddling with his sash as though at a loss for words for once. Virgil can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Roman unsure about anything - and all of those times it involved Thomas and the work. Sure he gets super insecure about his work but even when he is insecure, he still acts as though he is confident. Now, he isn’t even wearing his mask and Virgil cannot understand what on earth there is right not to be unsure about.

Then the prince looks up, a determined gleam in his eyes. He smiles, something full of warmth and life, as heated as his skin had been, the expression triggering a rush of comfort and safety within him. 

Virgil forgets what he is worried about, and carries that warmth back to his room as they call it a night. He feels it still as he climbs into bed, as he drifts off to a sleep that for once, is devoid of nightmares. The lingering traces of it wrap himself around him when he wakes up and crawls out of bed, determined to go downstairs and enjoy breakfast.

For a little while, everything is good. 

Virgil wouldn’t go so far as to say perfect of course. He still has moments which he wishes he didn’t. He still panics about the wrong things as well as the right, he still causes drama and issues like the little ball of shadow that he is. For a while though, the good still outweighs the bad and Virgil gets to actually enjoy life. He even sleeps a little better during those nights, and the bad dreams only come every few nights. 

The good moments end, as good moments normally do for Virgil, in a maelstrom of ruined thoughts and anxiety, in terror and a moment of complete mental agony. 

He should have pushed Thomas that night, he should have found out what was going on, should have helped, to try and fix it. He should have made Thomas more anxious about it, he should have pushed him to focus on the issues at hand, instead of letting him deflect and ignoring the issue at hand. He should... he should... he should have done _something_ because that was his job, his purposes. Not to laugh and play but to protect no matter what. He is meant to be the shield and stop Thomas, Patton, Logan or Roman get hurt. He didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t help and things are ruined because of it. It isn’t all Virgil’s fault of course, but he is pretty sure that the lion’s blame is his. 

Thomas and his boyfriend... break up.

Thomas and his boyfriend _**break up.**_

Virgil has always been the one who worried and thought about losing the people they loved, who was convinced that the worst was about to happen.

Being right, in this instance, does not make him feel better. He doesn’t think it is possible to feel better, not considering the agony that is rushing through them at all times and it feels as though the whole mind is burning. None of them have ever felt anything remotely like this before. 

Thomas doesn’t leave his house for nearly a week.

Normally that would be a cause for celebration for Virgil. No strangers, no social interactions, nothing to mess up or ruin. Just Thomas and peace, the kind of solitude that normally Virgil would crave, where he could be alone and distract himself from his thoughts. It isn’t the kind of solitude that Thomas needs right now. He knows he should be pushing Thomas to get outside, to spend time with his friends, to get some much needed constancy and reassurance. 

Virgil just doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t know how to step out of what he is feeling in order to push Thomas as he should because he is too afraid of hurting him further. Thomas feels fragile - they are all feeling a little fragile - and he cannot bare the thought that he might cause him added pain.

Luckily, Thomas has great friends, who don’t take the silence as an insult but instead as the cry for help that it really is and show up on their own, pushing their way back into his life and injecting some colour back into it. Thomas even smiles that first night Joan comes round, the first smile Virgil knows of since this whole horrible mess began. 

On the outside, things are awful, but they aren’t cracking completely apart. Virgil wishes the same could be said for the inside, for the way all four of them are struggling to cope with this unexpected twist of events and emotional feelings. 

He’s never been more thankful for the way in which he can turn his room soundproof, so that none of them can hear him as he cries long into the night. He avoids coming out of his room for as long as possible and even the near sacred breakfasts are abandoned in favour of trying to bury all this pain back inside of him. Change is always feared in Virgil’s mind because the change is almost always a bad thing, something terrible. This change is something terrible and awful. 

Sure, things hadn’t been as good as Virgil had naively hoped they would be by the end of the relationship but that didn’t mean that this limbo was better.

Was it better? 

It is impossible to tell, he is far too close to the tragedy, to the pain, to know if this is something that should have happened or not. All Virgil really knows for sure is that he is hurting because of this change. 

They are all hurting of course. Virgil isn’t so selfish as to think that his pain is unique to him alone.

Roman seems lost. He wanders around with a blank, distracted look on his face and Virgil isn’t sure if he is thinking on the past and trying to work out where it all went wrong or trying to come up with ways to solve it. Virgil is pretty sure he blames himself and is just as sure that this isn’t actually his fault. Virgil just wishes he could _say_ that, that he could convince his lead tongue to actually explain that Roman did nothing wrong. Sometimes... sometimes these things happen and it is only the fault of Anxiety. He misses the prince that had smiled and proclaimed the day saved. He misses the energy, the way he would bounce around a stage of his choosing, gleefully performing to an audience of one. 

He misses Roman. 

Logan seems bewildered by the shifts the rest of them are prey too. He often claims not to understand why they are so dejected and those comments have sparked a fight between him and Roman on more than one occasion. It is the best sign of life from the Prince that he has seen though and although it is negative, Virgil isn’t strong enough to stop all the fights before they occur. When he isn’t fighting, Logan acts as though everything is normal, head held stubbornly high, trying to wade through the mess that is the rest of them with little more than a sigh. 

Virgil had seen him stumble too. He might not feel the loss in the same way that they did, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel it. Logan just seemed unable to even recognize what he was feeling, let alone define it. 

Patton tries to hold himself together. His eyes are often red ringed and wet when he thinks he is alone but Virgil knows the places that Patton likes to go when he wants to cry. He knows how to creep to them silently and check in on his Dad. When Morality is in one of those spots it is easy for Virgil. It is when he isn’t that things become tricker. Because Patton is like Virgil in a way. He tries to hide how he is feeling, tries to bottle it up and push it to one side, where it can’t touch him and where it won’t affect anything that is happening. Where nobody else needs to know his pain in case they pity or judge him. 

Patton had taught Virgil that it was okay sometimes to be weak. No, no weak, weak has too many negative connotations. Patton is so many things but weak is not one of them, not when he would call him strong, so strong and brave. Soft then? It is okay sometimes to be soft, to let yourself feel the pain of a wound, to allow the emotions to happen and just... feel them, working out along the way what is going on. Patton should be a wreck all of the time. As much as Virgil loves him, he knows what Patton is, what he represents in Thomas and he should be a broken mess right now.

What worries him is how good Patton is at hiding his agony. A lot of the time even Virgil is confused, and he is never quite sure when he first starts talking to him if he is having a good or bad day. They all seem to start out the same and it takes Virgil a few minutes to be able to pick apart the interaction and decide if Patton is hurting or not. 

A lot of the time he suspects he guesses wrong. 

All he knows for sure is that Patton is hurting the most. Virgil can cope with his own pain, he is more than used to handling his own agony, hiding it behind a scowl or more accurately, a simple absence. What he can’t handle however, is the knowledge that his Dad is hurting, that the heart is breaking over and over again. There has to be something he can do, some way he can help.

Morality has always been the one to reach out to Virgil, to try and keep him in the moment. It had been because of him that the breakfasts had started, because of him that Virgil had tried to hang on for as long as possible, in the hope that they could like him, could see what he was doing was the right thing for Thomas. It had all become too much of course, but that wasn’t anyone's fault but his own.

He was the one who Virgil first spent time with in his room, the first one he cried in front of. He was the first one whose headaches Virgil had taken to protect him but that is such a tiny thing in the grand scheme of everything else that Patton has given him. So what if there had been that one day when they were kids - that was one solitary day in a lifetime of days.

Virgil owes it to Patton to try and help him. He _wants_ to help him. His dad, his fellow side, his... friend. His best friend? Before, he would have listed Deceit as his best friend, even now. 

For so many years it had been the two of them - Deceit had spent time with the other Dark Sides sure, just as Virgil had been drawn increasingly to the Light Sides but despite everything, they had always ended up back together. For years and years, until Virgil had finally decided that best friends or not, they were only hurting each other - Deceit was certainly hurting him, but they had still been friends until that final, ugly fight. 

Nobody would ever be as good a friend to Anxiety as Deceit was, the yellow clad side had been forever telling him, repeating it over and over again until it had been all he had been able to think whenever he wondered about their friendship. 

Now, that feels as though it could be a lie.

Or maybe not. 

Maybe Deceit really is Anxiety’s best friend but Patton is _Virgil’s_ best friend. 

His best friend who is hurting and in pain and trying to act as if he is the strong one for the rest of them. Patton doesn’t want to let down his walls when there are other to comfort and so he denies himself what he needs. It is up to Virgil to find a way to give it to him anyway because if the roles were reversed, he knows that Patton would have moved heaven and earth in order to help him. 

So he has to help back. He has to. Virgil just wishes he could work out how. His usual methods of comforting someone involve them either being in physical pain to start with or preferably asleep. He can help when they have a headache, something real for him to banish. This emotional pain is on a whole new level and it scares him even thinking about it because as much as it hurts Virgil, Patton is Thomas’ heart and so feels everything that much more.

He is still going to try. He can’t help Thomas - he knows he is the last side his host is going to want to see for a long time to come. Thomas needs support, building back up and as much as Virgil wants to be able to be that side for him, he knows that his Anxiety is not going to be able to do that. Plus, he has no idea if he can even keep control of himself if Thomas allows him any say in the situation, Virgil still feels on high alert, as though there is a battle waiting for take place. It would be so easy for him to see threats where there aren’t any and accidentally pump Thomas full of his influence, possibly forcing him to lash out at his friends. He could so easily lose the friendships that they both treasure so deeply if Virgil has his way, because Virgil doesn’t know how to behave around anyone. 

It makes Virgil feel sick just thinking about it. 

Briefly, Virgil wonders if he would have been better able to help Thomas if he had remained in the shadows like Deceit and try and do his job discreetly, so that his host isn’t even aware of his presence. He wouldn’t have had to worry about what the others might say or think, he wouldn’t have to argue or give way to them. No, that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t sound as though it would have helped Thomas but rather would have hindered him more. 

He can’t go to Thomas regardless. Hopefully though - and it is a weak, pale, silver of a hope - he will be able to help Patton and it is that hope which finally spurs him to leave his room and pad across the corridor to Patton’s own, where he knows the moral side has been hiding for the past few hours. 

Everything in the mind is so much quieter now, devoid of Patton’s presence down stairs or the boisterous singing coming from wherever Roman would be. Virgil would never had thought he could miss all the noise and yet right now he would give almost anything to have Roman belting out some tune in a truly obnoxious fashion. 

Virgil stands in front of Patton’s door, hand lifted to knock against the wood and yet he finds himself hesitating. All he has to do is knock. Just... lower his hand and knock. Virgil feels frozen in place, trapped by his own nagging self doubt, his uncertainty about what he is going to do and if it is even going to help to his friend. He still hasn’t managed to come up with any actual plan of how he is going to aid him, and all he has with him is a faded purple blanket that is ridiculously soft to the touch. It has given Virgil so much comfort over the years - but there he goes again, thinking only of himself, only what helps him. Why would Patton want his old blanket when he has so many of his own on his comfortable bed?

That is just pathetic. Virgil can almost hear the sneer in Deceit’s voice if he had shown up to try and help _him_ with such feeble tactics. Always coming up short, never quite managing to do what needed to be done. Pathetic indeed. 

Patton deserves better, the edges of the blanket slipping away and out of his numb fingers to pool silently on the floor. Virgil needs something else, something important, something that is going to do some actual good. But what? His mind feels slow, weighed down by the pain of recent events and he cannot think as clearly as he would like, he cannot work out the missing piece to this puzzle. 

He needs help. He needs the power to magically be able to comfort people, to not scare them. Essentially, he needs to not be himself and that isn’t going to happen any time soon. Virgil lifts a hand to his hair, tugging at it lightly as he tries to think and his mind is screaming all sorts of possibilities at him, all of them bad. He doesn’t know what he needs. Wait... 

Virgil does knows what he needs. He needs courage, he needs support and he needs to be able to give both of those things to Patton. Which, in turn, means only one thing. It is all so simple and he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before in connection to helping Patton, especially considering how often his thoughts had turned to just this topic in recent days. Stupid, slow, Virgil.

At least he has thought of it now, a shallow comfort but a comfort nevertheless and one he is more than willing to take in this situation. He knows what he needs to do and he cannot help but feel better with the fact that he now has a plan at last. Virgil turns and moves up the corridor, lifting a hand to knock rapidly on Roman’s door, nervously shifting from foot to foot.


	27. We belong to each tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He can’t bare to look at Roman any longer, can’t bare to see disbelief in those brown eyes, to see that glaring lack of trust once more. It is easier to examine the top of Mrs Fluffybottom’s head instead, committing it to memory once more. Who knows if he will ever get the chance to hold her again, Roman might take her back now that he has been reminded of the past, so he needs to take full advantage of this moment. Words spill out despite themselves, his voice gathering momentum as he speaks, faster and faster. He can’t stop himself from talking, fingers still playing with the tag, twisting it a little back and forth.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil and Roman finally talk and lay some old ghosts of the past to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! You guys have no idea how long I have been waiting to finally write this chapter, stuff is actually happening at long last. This chapter has been in my mind and part of the plan from almost as soon as I started this story so I am so pleased to finally be here. There were moments when I thought I would never get this far, thank you for still being here. We have some angst, some fluff and hopefully some emotional good stuff. 
> 
> Chapter title is from _Deathwish_ by **Red Sun Rising** and it is one of my favourite songs at the moment, I am seriously obsessed with it. Comments and kudos feed my soul, such as it is. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### We belong to each tonight

** **

Regrets swarm through him the second the door starts to open and for a wildly impossible moment he considers just bolting down the corridor back to his own room and hiding in there again. It isn’t that he is afraid to face Roman - okay, maybe it is a little. But not for the same reasons as they once might be. He is afraid Roman will say no in a kind way, he is afraid to face his past and actually acknowledge it. He is afraid that Roman is still upset at what happened and that he will not believe Virgil’s denials again. As always, Virgil is afraid of a lot of things.

He can’t do this. 

He can do this.

For Patton, he has to do this. 

It will go better this time, Roman will listen to him. Roman has to listen to him surely, he has to know that Virgil is sorry, that he didn’t do it and that he can be trusted with Mrs Fluffybottom because the cuddly toy is the only plan that he has right now. He needs Mrs Fluffybottom. He has missed her so much and it is likely that he would have eventually worked up the courage to have this conversation but events have forced his hand. Virgil might not know much about comforting people and making days better, but he knows that a cuddle from that rabbit had always cheered him up when he was tiny and it stands to reason that Patton, who he knows adores soft toys, would also welcome the presence of Mrs Fluffybottom. 

The voice in his head that sounds like Deceit whispers that this is no different from the blanket but Virgil knows that the voice is wrong in this case - Mrs Fluffybottom calms Roman as well as Virgil and he believes it will help all of them. He knows he has to try at any rate. 

“Virgil?” Roman sounds surprised to see him, Virgil's head snapping up from where he had been examining his dark purple socks and how long had he been there, locking in his own head, repeating the same old tired thoughts? 

“Hey.... um... can I come in?” Virgil hates the hesitation in his voice, the doubt that is still so strong in him. Roman nods silently and moves, letting him shuffle inside. 

The lights are dimmer than the last time he was here and Virgil is so very grateful for that as they move inside, Roman flopping down on his large bed. There are no piles of paper on the bed, nothing for him to crumple and ruin like the last time. In fact, there are no pieces of paper in sight at all, which worries Virgil a little. Even on bad days, Roman is normally doing something creative, not always coming up with new ideas but sometimes just colouring in or messing around. To see absolutely no trace at all of any creative work is a huge red flag that Virgil couldn’t ignore. 

Roman looks... not his fabulous self. His eyes are bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled and creased, as though he had been tugging at them constantly. His hair is equally disheveled. It looks even wilder than Thomas’ had done in the video Virgil hadn’t been in, but had watched, unable to believe at the time that they would really have gone to all that effort without seeing some physical proof. Just to make his mind shut up.

None of that is important right now. He came here with a mission and he is going to complete it, no matter his own pain. As soon as he works up the courage to actually say something. 

Anytime now. Anytime. Roman tilts his head slightly, a subtle gesture of encouragement, and as much as much as Virgil wishes he would start talking and so take this out of his hands, he knows that he can’t - Virgil was the one who asked to come in, who had a purpose and Roman can have no idea what that actually is. It’s probably his paranoia only that whispers Roman is giving him a funny look. He chews his bottom lip nervously as he tries to force himself to speak. Why is this so hard? This is Roman sure and they don’t have the best history, especially in this room, but they have gotten much better at communicating recently. It shouldn’t be so hard or awkward to ask a favour and Virgil has hopefully proven himself by now. 

Inside Roman’s room though, it is clear just how much he is hurting too and he hadn’t even thought of that. Roman needs help and comfort just as much as Patton does, but Virgil knows for sure that he will not be able to give the Creative side what he needs. Maybe if he can help Patton, then Patton can in turn, help Roman.

Or maybe he won’t give Virgil the rabbit toy because he is using it for comfort and really, there is nothing Virgil could say to that, he deserves to keep his own toy if it is helping him rather than be guilted into giving her up. He won’t know until he asks of course and his thoughts do nothing but spin him round in an endless loop.

“I was... I was wondering...” His breath feels short, trapped in his chest, each breath a stuttering mess to go with his words. Virgil forces himself to exhale and even that noise sounds angry somehow, as if he is here to pick a fight. It is the fear that Roman might think that, which finally spurs him on to speak again. 

“I was hoping I could borrow Mrs Fluffybottom. I know, I know what you’re going to say but this is for Patton, he is upset and I don’t know how to help him but I thought maybe... maybe she could help?” 

It isn’t his imagination - Roman does look at him a little funny but there doesn’t seem to be any malice in that look, instead it is confused... and sad? Why would he be sad? Wait... maybe he was planning to cuddle her and now that Virgil has mentioned Patton, he will feel obligated, just as Virgil had feared. Instantly, Virgil can feel all the words bubbling up inside of him and spilling out, as he tries to backtrack and it isn’t worth it to soften one pain if he only increases another.

“Unless you’re using her of course, I mean Patton doesn’t even know I’m asking, I’m sure I can find some other way to help him, what am I thinking, of course you have to be using her, I know how much you like her. I’ll, um... I’ll just go.”

Virgil starts to shuffle backwards, every nerve in his body screaming for him to retreat, to try and get out of this with any sort of grace and what was he thinking, choosing the worst possible time to bring up such old wounds? 

“Wait.” Roman’s voice sounds more tired than anything else but it is still enough to stop Virgil in his tracks and even take a cautious step forward when Roman gestures for him to do that. He hopes they never realise just how weak and whipped for them all he is, how all any of them would have to say is ‘Jump’ and Virgil would merely ask ‘How high?’ before doing it. Luckily, Roman seems too caught up in his own pain to notice how readily Virgil did as he asked, the purple clad side coming to a stop in front of the bed once more. 

Roman clicks his fingers. Instantly, the worn down version of himself is replaced, his clothing clean and crisp once more, the pristine white of his tunic bright against the otherwise muted colours of the room. His hair is neat and tidy, with only that single sprig of hair that normally sticks up out of place, looking for all the world as if he had been like this for hours. He looks... he looks like a charming prince once more, untouched by the events going on around them and Virgil could almost believe the illusion he was being shown. 

All except for his eyes. Now that Virgil knows to look, he can still see the pain in those eyes. 

He must stare into them too long because the next thing he knows, Roman is turning away to rummage through the collection of soft toys that line the edge of his bed against the wall like a line of sentries keeping silent watch. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back, brandishing the toy in question and Virgil wants to cry at the mere sight of her. 

She had always been missed, a never ending ache in his heart that would blossom into pinpricks of pain if he ever allowed himself to think about her for too long but the sight of her makes him realise just how badly he has been craving her, how long his heart had been crying out to just hold her once more.

“Here.” Roman doesn’t make an effort to stand up from his bed but he is offering Mrs Fluffybottom to him, freely. 

Neither of them remark on the way Virgil’s hands are physically shaking as he takes the rabbit, turning her over carefully, examining every inch of her. She is intact. She is whole and new as if she had never been to the subconscious, the tear mended, invisible to the naked eye. 

Virgil wants to weep even more now, this time from relief.

Roman had been able to fix her and he feels a whole new swell of love for his friend, for the fact that he had been able to save her when Virgil hadn’t. Fingers dance over the rabbit and her dress before finally touching the name tag which has clearly been lovingly restitched on. He knows this tag. He knows what it says, ‘Creativity’ written on it to display to all the world who she belongs to. Except it probably says Roman now. They aren’t those children anymore. 

He cradles her carefully, thumb and one finger rubbing at the name tag idly, unconsciously playing with it as he lifts his eyes to meet Roman’s gaze. The other side still looks so _sad_ and it is breaking Virgil’s heart just to see it, although he still doesn’t understand where all the pain is coming from. He knows it is pain though and that is really, at the end of the day all that matters to him. 

“I know you think I hurt her,” Virgil began and try as he might, he can’t quite keep the pain or the quiver out of his voice at that statement. All these years and it still burns inside of him, a molten hurt of a wound that has never come close to healing. 

He can’t bare to look at Roman any longer, can’t bare to see disbelief in those brown eyes, to see that glaring lack of trust once more. It is easier to examine the top of Mrs Fluffybottom’s head instead, committing it to memory once more. Who knows if he will ever get the chance to hold her again, Roman might take her back now that he has been reminded of the past, so he needs to take full advantage of this moment. Words spill out despite themselves, his voice gathering momentum as he speaks, faster and faster. He can’t stop himself from talking, fingers still playing with the tag, twisting it a little back and forth. 

“I know it looked bad and I didn’t explain at the time or ever since but I swear, I swear Roman, I didn’t do it. I don’t know who took her from my room or why I didn’t wake up but I would never have done that to her. I didn’t take her to the subconscious to try and hide her from you, I was looking for her, I searched all over and she was nowhere to be found. When you found us in the subconscious, that was the moment I’d just found her myself, I promise. The thought of her getting damaged... I couldn’t, Roman, I promise, I _pinky swear_ I didn’t do that.”

“Virge.”

To his relief the interruption is enough to finally let him stop talking, mouth snapping shut with an audible click. He doesn't know what Roman is going to say, doesn't know if he will forgive him or not and it's suddenly the most important thing in the world for him to know that Princey doesn't blame him for what happened all those years ago. Virgil keeps his eyes lowered, glued to the top of the rabbits head but he can hear Roman move off the bed and come closer, a flash of white and red in his peripheral vision 

“Hey, Virge... look at me, kay?” Roman... Roman doesn't _sound_ mad at least, his voice unusually soft. Slowly, Virgil peeks up through his eyelashes at the other side, still a little afraid of what he might see on Roman’s face.

In front of him, Roman takes a sudden, sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as he stares at him. The sadness is gone from his eyes, a rapid procession of other emotions flashing across his face, too rapid and complex for Virgil to understand. There are so many other currents flowing here, so many thoughts and words unspoken, hints of the never was and he feels far too stupid to understand any of them. Not when they twist and spin into something he cannot recognize because it isn’t anger, sorrow or fear related. 

It’s something... new in Roman’s eyes as he looks at him now.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil means for his words to come out as demanding, confident, on the offensive but instead they make an embarrassing squeak as they leave his mouth and he wishes he could try again. He wishes he actually was brave, like the Virgil in the stories.

“Nothing,” Roman tells him after a short pause and there is no way that Virgil can let that just be the end of it, no matter what his own anxiety is telling him. They have come so far in how they act around each other, they can’t slide back into lies and masks and pretending. Virgil isn’t about to give up this friendship, even if it means he is about to learn something he might not particularly want to. 

“You just gave me the weirdest look, seriously Roman, what gives?”

“No, nothing really... It’s just... I thought I realised something, but it is just some of Thomas’ feeling spilling over, affecting me, that’s all. He is very volatile right now, of course I, the fanciful side would have these... ideas. It isn’t important right now,Virgil, I swear.”

And really, what can Virgil say in protest to that? Roman is looking at him so intently, so pleadingly and Virgil couldn’t demand more answers or worse call him a liar when he is basically asking him to trust him without saying the words. Maybe that is part of friendship too, knowing when to stop asking and believing the other person. Knowing when not to fight, just as much as knowing when to. Virgil will let it go. 

For now. Something _had_ just happened, Virgil is sure of it and the knowledge is like an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades, something he knows he will not be able to resist forever. For now though, he can respect Roman’s choice, can trust him. This isn’t something bad or important, because Roman says so and he can believe that.

“Okay,” Virgil whispers, and he feels frozen in place, caught in between breaths as though they are still standing on the cusp of something important. Roman nods slightly towards the rabbit still held in his hands. 

“Why don't you take a look at that name tag you've been worrying at all this time?” The suggestion is made in that same, soft tone and Virgil isn't used to that, from Roman least of all. He's supposed to be loud and proud and while he appreciates the lack of shouting it still feels wrong somehow for Roman to be this quiet. Not to mention his words make no sense. Frown grows on his face as he looks down at the tag still clutched between his thumb and finger. Slowly, he turns it over - and stares, unable to understand what he is looking at.

There, in the same bright red glitter pen as before, is the name Roman. And next to it, in a glittery purple... Virgil.

“It used to say Anxiety, I'm glad I was able to fix it.” Roman is talking but the words sound as though they are coming from somewhere far away, barely audible over the roar in his head. All he can think about is his own name written there and no matter how many times Virgil blinks, the image doesn’t go away.

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” Virgil mumbles at last, eyes flicking towards roman for a second before instantly looking back at the tag, as though afraid that his name might have vanished in the meantime. It hasn’t. He is still on the name tag and still some real, tangible presence on her.

“Once I calmed down, I realised you would never have hurt her,” Roman admits. He looks away a moment later, and out of the corner of Virgil’s eye he can see a dark expression crossing his features before he continues on. 

“I was... too proud to come find you to apologise. I didn't want to apologise at first, but I knew a Prince should. I thought I would wait until you brought it up, and then I would say sorry and things would go back to normal. But you never mentioned her again, and I am ashamed to say I was too much of a coward to start the conversation myself.” 

That... that actually made sense. Part of it at least. Virgil certainly understands being too much of a coward to bring up the topic again, not to mention not wanting to apologise. He had been angry for a long time afterwards himself, the sort of anger that had made him want to cry, that had made him dream up all manner of petty and spiteful revenge plans he would never actually carry out. How dare Creativity not believe him, how dare he think Anxiety was like that. 

Then it had just been too late to bring it up again, to fix what lay shattered between them. Virgil had thought that it had been him alone that had felt like that, only now Roman was saying that he been exactly the same. Virgil caught part of his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it out of habit as he allowed the words to sink in.

Roman made the weird face again. Virgil really wanted to ask about it, to call him out on it but Roman had already made it clear that he wasn't ready to talk about it. He has clearly been working on this speech for a long time too, something practised about it, as though he had stood in front of a mirror and recited it over and over again.

And here Virgil thought he was the only one who rehearsed imaginary conversations with himself. Perhaps it shouldn't surprise him, Roman was the actor and if any of them understood the usefulness of a good rehearsal it was him and yet surprise him all the same it did. It showed him yet again that Roman was not as confident all the time as he pretended.

Roman tried to smile at him, expression coming out more akin to a grimace, Virgil keeping quiet about that too. 

“I saw how you looked at her though and I knew I was in the wrong but I was always mad at you for something or other, I always had some creative excuse as to why I shouldn't offer to lend her to you, no matter how much I knew, in my heart of hearts that you were hurting and you must have wanted her so badly during those times.” Roman’s voice is still so soft, so filled with regret and it is still so very wrong. As much as Virgil has dreamed of this moment, had fantasised for hours over what it would be like to have Roman crawl and beg his forgiveness, he found the moment... cold.

This isn’t what he wanted.

He wanted Roman sorry sure, he wanted Roman to apologise for how he had treated him in the past but during those daydreams it had never been like this. Virgil had always stood proud in those images, had always refused to accept the apology, a sneer that it was too little, too late.

Now he realises it is _everything_ and Virgil has no idea how to handle the emotions that are curling around his heart, the vicious tug of war that is going on between what he thought he wanted and what he actually does. It’s hard to remain proud and tall when Roman is actually apologising to him. In private, this isn’t for the cameras or Thomas or any of the other sides. This is for the two of them alone and it feels all the more real because of it. Roman might be putting on a little bit of a show - Virgil doubts he could do anything without a little bit of dramatics, simply because of who he is - but he also feels completely genuine. 

“It's... it's okay,” Virgil stammered out at last, very aware as he spoke how much he was lying and how okay it really wasn’t. If it had been okay, it wouldn’t have tortured him for years and still hurt to this day. If it had been okay, he wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Roman shakes his head firmly. 

“No, it really isn't.” Roman took a tiny step closer easily within arms reach, his hand reaching out to lightly touch against the top of Mrs Fluffybottom’s head before dropping away again. This close, Virgil could hear the deep breath as the other side clearly tried to gather some more courage and carries on with his speech.

“Then one night, I was holding her and the tag seemed so empty. Before I knew it, I was adding your name to her, and still, I was too proud to tell you. It was not Prince like of me at all, I was a coward and a disgrace to royalty everywhere.”

Roman slapped a hand against his chest, directly over where his heart would be before stretching his arms out wide as though offering himself up for the slaughter - or asking for a hug. 

“It was wrong of me Virgil and I am so very sorry.”

“Shut up,” Virgil says fiercely, taking a step forward into those outstretched arms. In this moment he doesn't care if Roman was offering a hug or simply adopting a grand pose. He wants to be closer. He needs to be closer and right now even his anxious thoughts about everything that could go wrong are silenced by that simple need to be closer. Roman doesn’t complain and simply dropped his arms a little, wrapping them around his back and oh, he is actually properly hugging him, his hands tightening on the back of Virgil’s hoodie as he holds him.

Virgil lifts his one free arm - the other still clutching the rabbit tightly - and tries to hug back as best he can. It is awkward and uncertain, no doubt nowhere near the top ten hugs Roman has ever received but he tries his best all the same, tries to give him back even a fraction of the joy and warmth and love that Virgil himself is feeling in this hug, his whole body alight with it. 

“But all this time,” Roman protests, voice hitching a little as he rocks his head forward, forehead resting in the crook of Virgil’s neck. Words are slightly muffled, distorted as he talks but he makes no effort to move and Virgil certainly isn’t going to make him, each word sending tiny vibrations running through his body.

“Things could have been so different if I had just _talked_ to you and not let my foolish pride get in the way!” 

“No, they wouldn't have been, just shut up,” Virgil hisses, screwing his eyes closed to try and stop the tears that wanted to fall actually escape. They were the good type of tears though, the ones that made him want to smile through them. Talking about that day wouldn’t have changed anything. Not really. Virgil would have found some other way to mess everything up and Roman had already admitted that he was almost always annoyed at him growing up. They could never have had the kind of happy friendship that both of them seem to look back at and long for but the past is in the past. Virgil isn’t an optimist by any stretch of the imagination but finds himself believing that perhaps they can be real friends now.

Not just when the cameras are rolling or when the others are there. But maybe they can be real friends, maybe those moments in the imagination where Roman had performed for him was more than just the other side playing up for the attention. Maybe it really was his way of trying to form a real friendship.

He doesn't know exactly when the roles were swapped around and Roman has become the one comforting him but right now Virgil can’t say he cares. Not when he feels so safe and secure within Roman’s hold, although there is a desperate edge to it as well, as if Roman is balanced on that cliff edge that Virgil knows so well. Fingers are still curled tightly in his hoodie, bunching up the fabric, grounding them both in the moment. 

He also still doesn’t know how took her from his room in the first place, but that had always felt like a secondary concern compared to to the fact that Roman had blamed him for it. Now that he knows Roman doesn’t - and hasn’t, not for _years_ \- he can’t help but turn that question over and over in his mind, wondering which of them had crept in his room. Who would be that malicious, that cruel to a helpless stuffed animal? 

“For the first time, Mrs Fluffybottom is whole,” Roman tells him, his words finally bursting the dam that Virgil had been trying so hard to keep intact, unable to help himself. His whole world is crumbling away in front of him, reforming into something new, something potentially very frightening - something potentially very good as well. The world is new, raw to the touch, each colour blossoming afresh as it uncurls itself around them both. 

And in the safety of Roman’s arms, Virgil sobs. Happy, blissful tears. Over the sound of his own tears and his heart, he can hear the tell tale sounds of someone else crying too. It isn’t the first time that he has made someone else cry but it is the first time that he feels as though he may have done a good thing in making them cry - in this blissful state he hopes that Roman will feel better after letting some of his emotions out, that he is helping him too.

Roman just holds him tighter as they both sob, rocking them both ever so slightly and even that is comforting, letting Virgil slowly settle into the embrace. A faint headache is forming in Roman, something dull and throbbing, right at the base of his neck. It is child’s play for Virgil to reach up, his fingers just brushing against the nape of Roman’s neck as they hug, to let the seed of pain seep from him before Roman even becomes aware of it as something at all.

The only reason Virgil was able to feel it was because he was so close to Roman, closer than he had been to anyone besides Patton and somehow this felt different to the hugs and even the tears he had shared with the parental side. Exactly how, he didn’t know - he is still so new to the language of hugs, to the subtleties in each motion that a lot of the time it is all he can do to even understand the most basic of meanings.

 _You’re safe_ , Patton’s hugs tell him sometimes. _You belong_ , they whisper at times, wrapping him up in the scene of freshly baked sugar cookies and sweetness. _I want to understand_ , occasionally, when it is a Not Good Day and those hugs are the most fragile and careful of all, blending in with, _You are still FAMily._

 _I’m glad you’re with us,_ is the most improbable one and yet the one that seems to happen most often. Anything else is lost in his lack of understanding, and although he can almost hear the words, it is always from a far distance away, with no comprehension of their flavour. 

He has no idea at all about what this hug is saying. 

“Roman?” Virgil whispered softly. Roman hummed in response but didn’t actually answer. Virgil took the noise as that anyway, carefully untangling himself and pulling away from the hug, needing to breathe on his own once more. He lifted a hand, carefully brushing away some of the tears that are still waiting to fall, trying to find even a semblance of control. They are still falling and he ends up scrubbing at his face harder, feeling black smear under his fingers.

His makeup is probably ruined but Virgil finds he doesn’t care how he looks in front of Roman. So what if the Prince sees him at less than his dark best? That is what... friends do right? See each other in the lows as well as the highs. Roman isn’t going to make fun of him for looking a little worse for ware - and even if he does, he doesn’t mean it in a nasty way. Virgil is slowly learning the difference between the two.

Roman’s fingers twitched slightly as Virgil rubbed at his eyes but he made no move to follow and close the space between them, something Virgil is grateful for. 

As much as he loved that hug, and the conversation before it, the whole thing had been so much, bordering on too much and he needs the air to breathe and find himself once more. He needs the space to clear his head and focus on the next problem at hand. He needs to try and keep the headache from becoming worse, the pain gradually growing in his mind and Virgil is so pleased that he took it, that he saved Roman from this. After everything else that Roman is going through, everything terrible he is feeling, he doesn’t need this kind of pain on top of it.

“It... it _will_ be okay you know,” Virgil told him carefully, for a moment unsure if he meant what had just happened between them or the current agonising crisis that Thomas was going through.

Both, Virgil decided with a rush of determination. He meant both. 

Roman gave him a soft smile - a real one this time, something gentle, almost bashful - and nodded. He lifted a hand to run through his hair, and if Virgil didn’t know better he would have thought he was a little unsettled by the hug himself. 

As though Roman would be unsettled by that. The idea is ridiculous. 

“Thanks Virgil.” 

“I uh... I'm going to give her to Patton.... we good Roman?” He feels cold no longer in the embrace, for all that he was the one to pull away, and with the chill comes the doubts, whispering that he has messed up and that Roman will be mad at him. Roman is still smiling and he tries desperately to hold onto that image, to ignore the voices and focus instead on the way Roman nods at him. 

“Oh we are better than good my little shadowling. You'll see.” 

Roman’s promise rings in his ears as he finally leaves the room, the rabbit held tight. She even smells the same as he remembers, as though the time between embraces has vanished in the mists. He feels like a kid again and although it wasn’t the best time of his life, Virgil still feels... nostalgic for it - this right now is the best time of his life, even in the middle of this melt down they are all going through and what does that say about him that he still thinks these moments are better? 

Virgil would like nothing better than to retreat to his own room and just hug her for hours, to make sure the door is locked and every alarm is set so nobody can get it without him knowing, not even Patton. To try and sleep without nightmares for the first time since this whole mess with Thomas and his boyfriend started. Virgil can’t deny that the temptation of that, his whole body begging for a real rest.

He had said he was planning on giving her to Patton though, and Virgil had meant it at the time. The voices whisper that is the only reason Roman gave her to him and although the memory of the smile, the hug tell him otherwise, he knows that the doubts will become stronger over time, as they always do. He also knows his guilt would be too strong if he was selfish and ignored what he said. Virgil would never forgive himself if he thought only of himself and not how the others might be feeling. 

He really should go and visit Remy as well, see how his friend is coping. Thomas is barely sleeping and that must be having an effect on the function, almost certainly a bad one. He worries though, because he needs sleep so very badly and he doesn’t want Remy to think he had come with that thought in mind. Because over the months since they had rekindled their friendship, Virgil has come to realise just how good and kind Remy actually is under his casual personality. Remy would put aside his own pain and issues to help Virgil sleep without a single serious complaint if he thought that was what Virgil had come to see him for. And he doesn’t want him to do that, Virgil isn’t worth that.

He is still so new to this whole friendship thing. Virgil will go and see him after Patton. Even if Remy thinks he is only there for what he can get, he has to try because they are friends now. That’s what friends do. 

First, he has to help Patton. So many to help, and so little time, Virgil lifting a hand to massage his forehead for a moment, trying to push through the headache that has now becoming a throbbing pain but he can manage this. It is nothing compared to some of the headaches he has suffered through the years. Virgil suppresses the sign of pain as he makes himself move, lifting a hand to knock on Patton’s door. 

For the longest time there is silence from the room, long enough for Virgil to start to think that he had gotten things wrong and that the other side isn’t even there. He should have checked the kitchen and various hiding spots first, instead of just assuming he knew best. Slowly, Virgil bends to collect the blanket he had left so carelessly on the floor. Of course that is the moment that the door actually begins to open, with Virgil’s eyes on the blanket and not where they should be.

“Kiddo?” Patton’s voice is muffled, heavy with tears but as Virgil hurriedly stands up straight once more he can see the way Patton tries to hide in turn, to put on a bright smile and pretend as though his whole world isn’t falling around them. 

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greets quietly, and he needs to approach this carefully. He wants Patton to be able to trust him with his worries but he doesn’t know how to start the conversation without the other side shutting it down completely. 

“Are you okay?” 

Virgil isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry at that question. He had just gotten himself under control after everything that had happened in Roman’s room and now here was Patton looking at him with such genuine concern, such honest worry. On the down side, it proves to him that Patton won’t just admit that he is upset, that he feels a need to protect Virgil, to try and cover up. It is sweet, but in this case unnecessary, and he wishes Patton would let someone take care of him in turn. Virgil isn’t a child, he isn’t weak and he has taken the lessons Patton taught him to heart - lessons he worries Patton might not know himself. 

Patton isn’t going to just accept Mrs Fluffybottom, is he. 

Which means that Virgil is going to have to be sneaky about it. If there is one thing he is good at, its being sneaky about getting what needs to be done, done. Like all Dark Sides, he knows how to play the strings when he has to- he isn’t a Dark Side. Not anymore. He’s better than that, he’s grown from that. He doesn’t want to puppet Patton, he wants to help him, aid him. He is going to have to be sneaky but he is going to force him into doing anything. Virgil would never do that to any of them.

He doesn’t think it healthy for Patton to stay in his room so much. Not right now at least and Virgil is aware of how much of a hypocrite that makes him sound - out of all of them, Virgil is the last one who can make any judgements about how long they stay in their own rooms. His nerves are telling him however that he needs to get Patton out of there, that bad things will happen if he abandons him now. 

Exactly what bad things, Virgil has no idea. But _something_ will go wrong. 

As always, he is so very useful when it comes to working out threats and dangers. It is amazing they put up with him when he can’t even work out what or where he should be worried. Virgil is going to trust that vague, unhelpful sense of unease nevertheless though, he is going to ride it because try as he might, he can’t shake the feeling that he needs to get Patton out of his room. 

“Blankets and hot chocolate on the couch?” Virgil asks, pitching his voice a little low, hopeful and he can see the battle waging behind Patton’s eyes, the way he wants to retreat into himself and at the same time, give Virgil what he thinks he needs. The paternal side wins out, because of course it does and he feels a tiny fissure of guilt at sort of tricking him.

Except he isn’t tricking him, not really. It isn’t Virgil’s fault that Patton is so focused on other people that he doesn't think of himself. It isn’t healthy either, to be so focused on those he cared about to the extent of putting your own emotional or physical health at risk, but that is okay because Virgil is going to help fix it. 

“We could watch some movies?” He adds after a moment and Virgil worries a little that he might be being too obvious - Virgil has never once made a suggestion to do anything in the common room before that could blossom into a group activity. When asked, he will sometimes join them for activities but normally his own preferences are one on one, in their rooms if need be. To offer to watch a movie in the common room means the chance of either of the other two wandering past but Virgil is willing to take that risk. It isn’t like he can let Patton come into his room for the length of a movie after all.

“That sounds great kiddo!” Patton tells him at last, Virgil trying not to wince at the very obvious fake brightness in his words. It is a start at least and he can hopefully work with that. 

It doesn’t take long for Patton to select a blanket of his own, Virgil asking him to make up the couch and pick a film while he makes the hot chocolates. They won’t be as good as the ones Patton makes - nothing is as good as the ones a dad makes, it is like a law - but they will have to do because he can’t very well ask him to do it when he is the one supposed to be cheering up Patton. 

It doesn’t take long for him to add marshmallows and whipped cream, even grating a tiny bit of fresh chocolate on the top. Even Patton’s sweet tooth should be temporarily sated by this, Virgil carefully carrying both drinks back into the common area. They settle themselves and in the short time it has taken Virgil to make the drinks, Patton has made a nest for them both.

Nest does not really do it justice. He has no idea where he has found all these cushions and extra blankets that are piled up but it looks far too comfortable for even Virgil to worry about beyond a concern that he might spill the drinks as he climbs in, the anxious side taking even more care than he would normally. A soft sigh of pleasure slips from Patton’s lips at the sight of the chocolate monstrosities Virgil has brought them, Virgil feeling the tips of his ears burn a little red in pleasure at that noise and knowing he did something right for a change. 

Virgil waits until they are about half an hour into the movie and the hot chocolates have long since been drunk before he starts to make his move. Slowly, carefully, as if for once Patton is the wounded animal, he shifts a little closer, letting his head loll around a little as if growing tired. Virgil makes sure to dip and jerk back up a number of times before finally letting his head rest on Patton’s shoulder.

He holds his breath as he does, waiting for Patton to stiffen, to tell him off, to pull away or do something. 

Nothing like that happens. Instead he feels Patton tilt his own head just a fraction, brushing the top of Virgil’s head with the gentlest of kisses and man, he really doesn’t deserve to have Patton as his friend, to have him trying to comfort him all the time. Patton is far too good, too kind and sweet. He doesn’t deserve any of the bad stuff that is happening to him.

All the more reason Virgil needs to do this. 

Carefully, he shifts a little, curling closer to Patton, his arms lifting. He is still holding Mrs Fluffybottom in his arms and he can feel her power, her strength seeping into him with every little squeeze he gives. 

For a moment, he wonders if he will be strong enough to cope after he gives her up and his whole body feels starved, as if he hadn’t realised how badly he needed her until this moment. That is selfish though and while Virgil is selfish, he isn’t that bad. Not for Patton at least and he can be brave for his dad. 

Patton freezes when the rabbit is gently pressed into his arms, Virgil risking a little peak upwards to look at his face. Patton is wide eyed, staring down at the toy as though he has never seen a stuffed animal before.

“It’s okay,” Virgil whispers softly, hoping that Patton will understand. He knows he needs to explain first though and he doesn’t quite know how to actually put his thoughts into a series of words that actually make sense, how to explain how safe he feels with her, and how he had hoped that she would give Patton the same comfort. He feels increasing silly and stupid about this idea but he has come too far to just stop now, so Virgil forces himself to keep talking. He wishes he was as gifted with conversation as Roman or as knowledgeable with words as Logan. They would know how to word this right. 

“She makes things... better. You know?” 

“Yeah, I do know,” Patton whispers back after a long pause, long enough that Virgil had started to doubt his plan, but his smile is honest, tinted with tears perhaps but honest all the same. He hugs Mrs Fluffybottom tight against his chest, staring at her with wonder. 

“Just give me a couple of hours with her.”

“As long as you need Pat... always as long as you need,” Virgil tells him fondly and he would do a lot more for his friend besides simply let him cuddle a stuffed animal. Virgil certainly isn’t going to insist there be some kind of time limit attached and he knows Roman would do the same. He would do so much for all of them and it hurts a little, that this is all he can think to do. 

His headache has almost faded by now, the sugar of the drink helping perhaps. Virgil thinks he could sleep now, that maybe being near Patton will be enough to finally let him rest and this time as he dips further into Patton’s shoulder, it is nothing feigned, but true and gentle trust. He lets the soft sounds of the movie still playing to guide him down into sleep, Patton’s warmth a reassuring beacon of safety.

He is almost certain he imagines the way Patton whispers his love before the currents take him completely and the pair sleep, for once without any pain or fear.


	28. When happiness doesn’t work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He feels uneasy now, eyes flickering around to take in all the various spots where his friends have reappeared in. It looks different of course, boundaries stretched and warped to fit the reality of Thomas’ living room instead of the actual room Virgil knows. Things are spread out in a slightly different layout than before, and Virgil almost smiles at all the memories laid out, moments in Thomas’ past that meant so much to him. Moments that didn’t mean so much at the time as well, but have acquired a more rosy glow in his thoughts when he looks back. The toys, the books, the items showing his love for learning and his love for the theatre. There is so much love in this room, towards Thomas, towards them all, that Virgil can almost ignore that unease which is still whispering its way through his veins.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Virgil tries to help Remy and then Thomas move on, but the past may hurt them more than they realise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Video covered in this is **Moving On Part 1 - Exploring Nostalgia.** All lines from it belong to Thomas  & Co. We have finally reached this one and yeeeah... it is a bit of a long chapter today because I really didn’t want to have to split it into any more parts since the video itself is a two parter. So sit down, buckle up! 
> 
> Chapter title is from _Pain_ by **Three Days Grace** which I think pretty much sums up what you have to expect from this chapter, which leads me into a **Chapter Warning:** There is anxiety of a major sort in here, and dissociation which is all hinted at in the videos but obviously I took my own spin on it. Please be safe. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my soul, such as it is. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### When happiness doesn’t work

** **

Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks hover into months.

Gradually, they start to pick up the broken shards of life and fit them back into some type of shape. It isn’t anywhere close to the same type of shape it had been before, there is a gap, a hole where Thomas’ boyfriend had once resided but they try and build around it as best they can. Virgil has always feared and distrusted change, and this one is no different. He doesn’t understand how they can possibly continue with such an open wound but he is determined to try, to push down all his own feelings of confusion and loss in order to try and focus on the others. 

Patton smiles more and more as time passes. He comes out of his room to cook and spend time with them and although it isn’t the same as before, it is as least something. It is... different. They don’t have family nights anymore, because the driving force behind them had always been Patton and he no longer seems to have the extra energy required to organize them. Neither Logan nor Virgil seem to have the ability either and Roman is increasingly wrapped up in his own plans. 

Time with them had taught Virgil that different didn’t always mean bad. He thinks in this case however, his original opinion of the meaning of the word stands true. This new world they live in is bad compared to the one that had gone before and Virgil doesn’t know how to bring them all to the shore where they can be safe once more. 

Virgil isn’t completely convinced by the smiles Patton offers, not all the time, but they certainly seem a little better now. They give him hope when he shouldn’t accept it, that things could return to what they had once been. 

There are still moments when both Patton and Roman will grow dejected once more, when they will think on what had been, daydream and imagine and _miss_ the love Thomas had felt. 

Logan is becoming increasingly frustrated with all of them, he can sense it. Virgil knows Logan isn’t annoyed at them, not completely. The anger is more turned inward, at himself. Anger at his own lack of understanding, anger at constantly being surrounded by people who think in such a very different way to him and not having the tools he needs to be able to translate the pain into something he can deal with, something he can understand. 

Virgil wishes he knew how to help him, but then he is barely helping Patton, it doesn't feel as if he is helping Roman at all and if he can’t do that, how can he possibly help Logan? How can he help Thomas? He doesn’t know what to do and Virgil tries not to think about it too hard because that only brings up a swell of emotion, of guilt and shame and the desire to do more but not knowing how. Every now and then, Roman has that strange look on his face and Virgil is no closer to understanding why.

He wishes he knew how to help Remy, because as he had feared, the function isn’t doing so well. Virgil goes to see him once or twice, trying to be there for him as best he can, tries to focus on his issues instead of his own because there is no chance of fixing him. It is a lot harder than Virgil expected, to help Remy, because Remy is a lot like Virgil in many ways. Especially when it comes to admitting there is any sort of problem and he is stubborn to a fault. Virgil has no choice to but to wait, to bide his time and hope that Remy can crawl out of the hole on his own. Or admit that he needs help, but that one feels fairly impossible. 

The moment comes when Virgil decides he has to do something as he comes across him drinking his eighth cup of coffee in an afternoon. Remy’s bags under his eyes are impressive, visible even with his shades on, rivalling Virgil’s own and although he is rarely seen without a cup of something in his hands, at least half the time it would be green tea. Lately it has been nothing but thick, dark coffee and something about the sight of Remy half slumped into the couch, listlessly sipping at yet another coffee makes him snap. 

“Your room, now,” Virgil grunts, standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. He can’t handle just waiting anymore and maybe this won’t help, maybe Remy will just think he is after sleep, but he would be an even worse friend if he just ignored this. 

“My boo!” Remy grins brightly, the kind of smile that Virgil has seen far too many times on Patton’s face lately, something over the top and fake. He shifts a little, one hand tapping at the seat beside him on the couch, silently inviting him to join him there. 

It is insulting, to think that they believe he can be fooled so easily. 

Virgil simply stares at him, eyes narrowed, refusing to let himself be distracted by a mask or the promise of for one not having to worry about someone else. He forces his arms to move, stretching out towards his friend. With a huff, Remy reaches out, taking the offered hand and the two slip through the mind, sinking out and reappearing a few moments later in Remy’s room. It is similar to how he remembers it, although dimmer, some of the fairy lights above the bed not turned on. A couple of identical leather jackets are tossed around the room, as though Remy had been unable to decide which one to wear and didn’t care what he did with the rest.

“You know, that much caffeine is not healthy,” Virgil cannot help but scold lightly as he takes the half empty cup out of Remy’s hand, depositing it carefully on the bookcase by the door. 

To his surprise, Remy doesn’t even try and grab it back - more proof, if proof he needed, that his friend had drunk more than even he wanted. Virgil has never seen him so unenthusiastic about a drink before, and there is something unsettling beyond belief, at the sight of Sleep not being himself. Remy sighs and makes his way over to his bed before flopping back against the mountain of pillows, half sinking into them. Even that move is dramatic and idly, Virgil wonders if Roman taught him that or vice versa. 

“Now, now my sweet little boo, anxieties in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” Remy’s voice is slightly muffled, one hand lifting and waving itself vaguely in Virgil’s direction. 

“Logan has me on decaf after ten pm.” 

“The heretic!” Remy looks genuinely scandalised, lifting his head to stare across the room at Virgil, his hair sticking up all over the place from his collapse into the pillows. Sunglasses are pushed up to his forehead, allowing Virgil a rare view of his eyes without any obstruction. The eyes are tired, pained and it makes Virgil’s heart clench a little to see it. Even more reason he was right to force the issue, trying to refocus back on the matter at hand and not the whisper at the back of his mind that he needs to find out all the causes of his friend’s pain. 

“I don’t always listen,” Virgil admits with a grin. Remy returns the expression, something more honest than the false one back in the common room. 

“That’s my boy. Come, sit down, you’re making the place look untidy lurking there.” 

Virgil wants to retort at that, to point out that lurking was exactly what he did and if anything, the abandoned jackets made the place look untidy, not him. But the bed looks far too comfortable, and Virgil knows from experience that it will actually feel even better. He can’t help the little sigh of pleasure that escapes him as he sinks down on the bed, every inch of him perfectly supported, just as he had known he would be. It is tempting to just allow himself to drift and he has done his part by taking the coffee off Remy, by showing him how much he cares. For a moment, Virgil even lets himself enjoy the sensation before he forces his head back up and away from the pillow, to look at his friend once more. 

There is a slightly strained look to Remy’s smile, almost as if... almost as if he was hiding something from him. The knowledge sits in him like a heavy weight over his heart and any half formed ideas about rest and relaxation vanish with that pressure. He cannot help but wonder what secret Remy is holding from him, he cannot help but let his thoughts spin it into something far more terrible than it probably is.

Virgil does what he should have done the moment he saw Remy in pain. He reaches out through his various threads that connect him to everyone else in the mindscape, traces connections that glow and pulse softly in time to the heartbeat. There is pain in the mind. Pain that he cannot cure, but there is also pain that he can, a familiar pain, something so achingly familiar that it makes him gasp slightly.

Remy has a headache. Virgil doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before. 

“Remy...” 

Virgil is fast but in this moment Remy is even faster. The perks of being sleep and how it can take you completely by surprise perhaps. Or maybe he just knew the movement was coming and is slipping off the bed even as Virgil is leaning forward to try and connect, to make it all go away. He avoids fingers with a practised grace, moving so that the bed is between them both. 

Somehow, Virgil had forgotten that Remy knew what he could do. That he had promised to keep it a secret yes, but that didn’t change the fact that he _knew_ what Virgil was capable of. He knew and he wasn't letting him help, he was hurting himself in the process. It made no sense.

“Come on Remy,” Virgil huffs, slipping around the bottom of the bed only to have his friend fling himself back on the mattress, still using the bed as cover. Virgil moves again, as if the pair are in some kind of dance and it would be funny if it wasn't so stupid, if Remy wasn't hurting every second they drew this out.

“This is ridiculous, let me help you already!”

“Whoa, calm down. Who is to say your little magic trick will even work on me? I’m a function, I’m not a fully fledged side, I work in a different way.”

“It’s worth a try at least,” Virgil protests and he doesn’t understand why Remy is making this so hard. It is a simple enough trade in his mind at least, and the benefits far outweigh the risks. All Remy has to do is let him touch his forehead and the pain hopefully goes away, why would he not want that?

“But it hurts you boo.” Remy looks distressed at the mere idea and this - this is one of the reasons why he has never told the others what he can do. They wouldn’t realise what a gift it was, they wouldn’t be able to accept that he was doing them a favour by taking away their pain. As if it _matters_ in the grand scheme of things, if Virgil hurts or not. He doubts Remy would appreciate him saying it like that though, he would come back with some nonsense about how of course it matters, how Virgil deserves better, blah, blah, blah.

Remy forgets sometimes, he thinks, exactly what Virgil is. More than Anxiety, he is Protection. He takes the pain, because that is what he is designed to do. He carries those burdens so the others don't have to. More than that, he wants to, because it helps them. Remy forgets and thinks he shouldn't have to suffer which is sweet, but wrong. Remy is too good a friend to just take the deal without Virgil thinking of some way to soften the blow.

“Then help me sleep after,” Virgil said after a short pause. “I won't hurt if I'm sleeping and you won't hurt either. Win, win?”

Remy considers his words carefully, Virgil hardly daring to breathe in case it distracts him and annoys him, making him refuse his help. Leather clad shoulders rise and fall in a lazy shrug - too lazy to be completely natural. 

“On one condition. Promise me boo, that you will always ask and get my permission. I know you will be able feel my headaches and do your little trick without physical contact. Don’t know how, but I know that is how you are able to sneak around and do it for everyone else, so you promise me you won’t ever do that to me.”

Virgil doesn’t understand why he would want him to make such a promise but he would swear to do a lot more if it means helping him now so it easy to make the promise, head bobbing up and down in agreement. 

“I promise.”

“No matter what boo,” Remy repeats, lips twisted into an unhappy pout. One hand lifts to rub against his forehead and Virgil’s own fingers are almost itching with the urge to touch, to take it all away for him. “No matter how bad the headache is. If I say no, that's it. You promise?” 

“I promise Remy,” Virgil tells him and it will be hard, it will hurt him more than the headache itself will, to know that Sleep is hurting and there is nothing he can do to help. But if that is the price to be paid, if Remy wants him to suffer like that, then Virgil will accept it. Plus, if he can convince him this once, it shouldn’t be so hard to convince him to let him do it again. Not after Remy gets to feel how good it is to be free of a headache. 

“Okay...” 

His friend caves, just as Virgil had hoped he would, turning a little to crawl back onto his bed, settling himself carefully, making sure to arrange himself comfortably in the mass of pillows. He takes his time doing so, arranging himself just so before opening his arms out in an inviting manner towards him. Virgil doesn’t need a second invitation. He has become greedy for physical contact since people started to offer it to him and the more they give, the more he craves. 

The chance to cuddle with his friend is far too tempting to resist, Virgil settling himself half on the bed and half in Remy’s embrace. He makes sure to make himself comfortable first too and Virgil has no idea how bad the pain will be, he has never taken one from Remy before - or indeed, as he said, any function before, and so he has no idea how strong the headache actually is.

Only then does he reach out, gritting his teeth together as his hand touches Remy’s forehead and he _pulls_. There is a slight resistance, an added air bubble of pressure before he is breaking through it, grasping the headache and letting it seep into himself instead of remaining with Remy. It hurts, a bleeding, burning heat that rushes through him and how could Remy have wanted to keep this?

He gasps softly, unable to swallow down all the noises of pain as his whole body spasms and then stiffens to try and defend itself. Against him, Remy’s arms tighten, pulling him closer, Virgil feeling his own grip tightening in turn, trying to press into his friend as best he can. For a few long, agonising moments, there is nothing but the pain. Ride it out, he just has to ride it out, just has to wait. One second. And then another. And another.

The pain eases to a more manageable level, Virgil forcing his whole body to relax slightly, to settle back into the embrace as though he was a living thing and not a stone statue. Beside him, Remy makes a soft little noise of distress, and no, this was supposed to make things better, this was meant to take away Remy’s pain. He has to distract him, has to make him think of something, anything else. He has to prove that he can do this and it be a good thing. 

“Stay while I sleep?” Virgil hates how small his voice has become. As though it would matter if Remy was there or not when he is going to be asleep. And yet it matters so much to him, in ways he can’t even explain. 

“Always Virgil, always.” Remy promises with a soft smile and now it is his hand lifting, drifting over Virgil’s forehead. It is strange, to hear his name coming from Remy, when normally nicknames would be used and for a moment Virgil feels as though he might be missing something important in his own name but then he is touching and all thoughts fall away. Fingertips are a cool, barely there pressure, Virgil’s eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. 

“Sleep now.” 

\---

It is a start. A small one, but a start all the same. 

Virgil is still foolish enough to think they are on the mend. He allows himself to relax a fraction, to think that they can start to move past this because they can’t hover in this limbo forever. He starts to wonder about movie nights again, about making popcorn and flicking pieces at Roman’s head whenever nobody is looking and then acting innocent. He starts to truly miss the games they would play, the memory of that last game of Twister haunting him at the oddest moments. 

Virgil would reach out for something - anything, it varied each time - and for a moment he was reaching for a spot on a plastic mat or being pulled upright by a warm hand. 

This is partly what he feared would happen, when he started letting his guard down around them. He had feared he would grow attached to the moments, grow dependant on them to the extent that he would crave them. Virgil had been afraid of what would happen if they cut him off again, if he was pushed back into the cold but this is so much worse than that. They are all out here shivering in the snow and ice with him, and whoever has the keys to get back in isn’t saying. 

Despite that, Virgil still doesn’t quite regret letting them in, in the first place. 

The biggest issues arise when they try and work out what they want to do next. Logan is all for ignoring any lingering traces of the issue, in ignoring it all and just getting back to work. The others are obviously opposed to that idea and Virgil is somewhere in the middle. He doesn’t really know where he stands or what he thinks, only that this isn’t normal. Virgil knows enough to know that he doesn’t want them to go crawling back to Thomas’ ex. He doesn’t think it will help matters and there is always the anxious thoughts of all the many ways it can wrong. He doesn’t want Thomas to be _humiliated_ if his ex rejects him, he doesn’t want him to be hurt by deliberately reopening those wounds and Thomas -

Thomas seems to be doing well. Better at least. He leaves his house for normal things like grocery shopping, for a haircut or shopping for new clothes. Sometimes when he orders pizza, Thomas remembers to smile at the delivery guy. 

Virgil doesn’t even have to keep reminding him about the importance of taking regular showers in case a friend comes over and that is such a relief.

He eases up on his presence as best he can, not wanting to overwhelm Thomas and with how he is still feelings, he knows it would be far too easy still to panic over stupid, unimportant things. It helps that there is nothing huge on the horizon. No projects with approaching deadlines that he needs to scream about, no detailed plans that they have to work on. Things are pretty chill, partly because of how understanding and great his friends are, letting him have this time to come to terms with things.

Things are starting to level out. They are starting to move towards okay. Towards the thought that they are going to be truly okay again. 

So he doesn’t suspect anything when he senses Thomas setting up a video. He doesn’t think anything is out of the ordinary when he feels the familiar tug that heralds his presence being needed and easily slips into his place on the stairs with a ready quip on his lips, almost pleased to be back doing what Thomas loves so much. 

“Wait. Am I the first one to show up?” Virgil glances around the room as he speaks, needing to confirm what he had already sensed. That he was indeed, the only side in the room, feeling a hint of panic rise in him as he looks back towards Thomas. “That’s not good.”

Virgil tries.

He does, really he does. He listens to Thomas and tries to comfort him in some limited fashion, he even kicks in when he has to in order to actually find out about the issue at hand and why Thomas doesn't seem to want to get into his planned video. Some part of Virgil had always known what it would be about but he had hoped that he would be wrong, that like so many other times before, he would turn out to be wrong. 

Of course he wouldn’t be that lucky. He had still tried though, had wanted to be there for his host, to help him as best he could. He tries to first relax him by reminding him that there is nothing for his Anxiety to be concerned about and when that doesn’t work, he tries kicking in with his presence, just a fraction, just to help Thomas talk about what is wrong this time. Virgil tries.

All the way up to the mention of _Guys and Dolls_. 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, _**nope**_. He is not dealing with this. He is not equipped to deal with this. Virgil had hoped by talking to Patton he had been helping Thomas in turn but what was he thinking, tricking himself into believing he could do anything good. Why would he even entertain the idea that he could help when it was about heartbreak? About feelings that he understood all too well, the pain of loss and yet still didn’t know how to heal from them? It is clear that he hasn’t helped Patton in the slightest though because Thomas is still upset and if Thomas is upset, that means Patton is upset. 

Virgil knows better than to just leave though. Or to try and struggle along alone as he might have done in the past. Thomas needs a lot more than his Anxiety is able to give him but that’s okay. There is one tiny little thing Virgil can do and that is admit that he can’t help.

It feels like growth, although he doesn’t know if it is or not, to admit that this is something he cannot do but still be strong enough to call for the others, to let them help Thomas instead.

Except only Logan arrives. Soon Patton shows up and Virgil can tell its a bad day. He would call him out on it but then Roman is leaping into action, spinning out some ludicrous idea about how they could try and win him back - as though that is the point, the matter of it all. 

No! No, they aren’t doing anything like that. Virgil might not know the answer to the problem but he doesn’t want that for Thomas, Virgil doesn’t want to see him hurt. Even thinking of his recent relationship hurts him, Virgil feeling his own heart crack a little at that. And what does Logan mean, Roman has been brainstorming about it all day? Is that... is that what Roman has been doing all this time? Why didn’t Virgil know that? Why didn’t Roman tell him that? 

Why didn’t Roman trust him with that?

Aside from the fact that he knew Virgil would shoot down his ideas of course, that was just what Anxiety did but Virgil felt that he had a really good reason for doing so. Why couldn’t Roman have talked to him about this first? After everything they had been through, why didn’t Roman tell him how much he was still hurting that his mind had turned increasingly towards such impossible dreams? 

Why didn’t Virgil go to him? He knew how much Roman was struggling and he should have known that his thoughts would eventually bring him here. Why wasn’t Virgil a better friend? 

By this point Virgil has half forgotten that they are meant to be making a video, because he is far too concerned with keeping the conversation on some kind of track and it was not fun to be the one doing that. How does Logan manage all the time? It makes something unpleasant curl in his stomach to have to keep dragging the conversation back to the issues that are plaguing Thomas - Virgil much prefers to be the one who gets to go off topic instead of having to remind them time and time again of the pain.

He is more than happy to let Logan take over once he has pushed them back, to try and work out why Thomas is feeling so down, what has led him to start thinking about that... that musical, yet again. Even that comes with dangers of course, because Logan’s annoyance and frustration at having to deal with such a constant surge of emotions are showing even more than usual. Logan wants this whole situation to end and Virgil cannot help but be a little on edge about that as well, worried about what kind of shortcuts Logan might end up taking to try and get them to where he wants them all to be. Virgil needs to offer Logan more support and he will, just as soon as Roman relaxes enough for him to be able to split his attention safely.

Of course Roman cannot relax. He seems even more wound up than usual, leaping about, looking for any excuse to even discuss the possibility of reuniting with their former flame and Virgil can feel his stress levels rising just trying to keep Roman from sending them down a tangent that they cannot afford to deal with right now. Nostalgia is one thing, but they can’t go down the road of even imagining getting back together with Thomas’ ex, because Virgil has wandered down that road in his own imagination.

Nothing but pain and misery comes from it, and he knows Thomas feels the same even if he also wants to risk it all. 

He does feel bad for shutting down every attempt Roman makes and Virgil wishes there was more time, more space for him to explain why he is using all of his energy to stop him so swiftly but there is never enough time, enough space to breathe, let alone explain to him the mess of things that are churning deep in Thomas’ mind, far below the surface, far below them and even Virgil can only see foggy shapes in that dim light. 

Before, before he had been accepted, before Virgil had started to make a real effort to see things from Roman’s point of view in turn, he would have no doubt just dismissed all of this as Princey not thinking. That he was shallow and vapid and all the angry negative thoughts he had directed at the creative side over the course of his life. He would have fumed and thrown angry words in his direction and never once tried to imagine how Roman was feeling. 

Virgil likes to think he knows better now. Roman is Thomas’ prince, his knight, sworn to fight for him. He would do anything for Thomas and yeah, sure, he doesn’t always look deeper. Because he doesn’t need to. He can see a problem and without a single pause for breath he rushes off to do battle, to save the day. He is a reaction, just like Virgil is a reaction. But where Virgil would lash out and then spend far too long obsessing over that one little moment, Roman will do the exact opposite.

Neither way is completely right, just as neither is completely wrong. Virgil wishes he could tell Roman that he knows that, that he understands it but that Roman needs to take that extra breath and think about _why_ Thomas is leaving all those fantasies and dreams about getting back together with his ex as just that - dreams. 

Instead Virgil lets Logan do his thing, even if he doesn’t quite agree on the idea of actively thinking about their pasts. The past... is not a place Virgil would like to revisit. He certainly doesn’t want them to spend any real quality time there. It is full of embarrassing moments for Thomas.

Painful, lonely moments for Virgil. 

Moments that made him wonder if things were ever going to get better. He had known - believed? - that he didn’t deserve anything better of course, that he was Anxiety and that the bad times were all that he was ever going to get. Then somehow, everything had changed and Virgil had been... _happy_. Simply... happy. Now the cold was wrapping around all of them and what if things don’t get better again? He had his good time and that was more than he had ever expected to get. These few months with the other sides were more than Virgil had ever dared dream of. What if that was it though?

Can things get better?

He speaks without thinking, his defeatist thoughts slipping free and there is an echo to his words.

No... no there isn’t. Not in his own voice, his tempest tongue isn’t playing up again. Patton is saying the same thing. _Patton_ is down and defeated and that is all kinds of wrong. So is the way he slams up his own mask, smiles brightly and how could Virgil have been so stupid? He had been focused on Roman, on Logan even and he hadn’t even spared a single moment to check in on Patton. Who he knew was struggling extra hard in all of this.

Well, Virgil feels like the worst kind of son now. He let Patton down, even though he knows that the other side would never see it that way. It was still the truth and Virgil really isn’t equipped to deal with comforting people. Why does he still keep trying to comfort them when the evidence has shown him time and time again that Anxiety is not suited for that? 

He is so caught up in his misery and self loathing that he can’t even think up the end of any of his thoughts, can’t string a whole sentence together. Virgil doesn’t really want to go to Patton’s room when the option is presented as a solution. Not that he has anything against it. Far from it - some of the best moments of his brief period of happiness are based in the memory of that room. Patton doesn’t want them to go however and that is enough for him to think they shouldn’t. He can’t put his thoughts into any clarity, can’t verbalise them beyond a slow match of impending doom, the feeling that this is bad, just a vague, unhappy feeling that this whole idea... will not end well. 

He tries - yet again, he _tries_ and as much as he knows it is stupid, pointless even, he knows he will never stop trying. Virgil could never stop trying for Thomas, no matter how many times he is reminded that he is not the right person for that job. Virgil does his best to try and stop this train but it is going at full steam ahead without pause.

Not even the nickname Romano is enough to make them pause and Virgil feels a flicker of... something in his chest, some hungry, wailing thing burn in his heart at the sight of Roman unsure of how to react to a nickname, flustered almost and at a loss for words. Roman has never failed to rise to the occasion before, even at his worse, he had been prepared to engage in a little name calling - harmless or otherwise.

It was what the two of them did, for so many years their relationship - if you could even call it that - had survived on insults tossed this way and that. They had become so ingrained into his psyche that even now, it occasionally jarred him when Roman actually used his real name instead of some insulting one. They had become softer of later, less of a bite to them and he knows they are not meant to be as cruel and as cutting as they had once been. Virgil has let himself become used to them, has grown fond of them even and he hadn’t even realised how deeply he has come to rely on them as an indication of Roman’s state of mind.

It hurts to not even have that now, hurt strangely more than the insults had hurt when they had been pure anger, and how much of a mess is Roman in, to be unable to even deal with something so easy, something that was just begging for a snappy comeback. Virgil has a terrible feeling about all of this, and yet they end up in Patton’s room regardless. 

The room feels... different somehow. Virgil can’t explain how exactly, not even to himself. There is a hum in the air, an undercurrent of electricity that is crackling and snapping. Softly, but still there, a sharpness hidden in the glittering fairy lights, something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up a little and he has never felt uneasy in Patton’s room before. 

He feels uneasy now, eyes flickering around to take in all the various spots where his friends have reappeared in. It looks different of course, boundaries stretched and warped to fit the reality of Thomas’ living room instead of the actual room Virgil knows. Things are spread out in a slightly different layout than before, and Virgil almost smiles at all the memories laid out, moments in Thomas’ past that meant so much to him. Moments that didn’t mean so much at the time as well, but have acquired a more rosy glow in his thoughts when he looks back. The toys, the books, the items showing his love for learning and his love for the theatre. There is so much love in this room, towards Thomas, towards them all, that Virgil can almost ignore that unease which is still whispering its way through his veins. 

_Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong!_

Nothing is wrong. This is Patton’s room and Patton would never let anything happen to any of them. It is just his own thoughts turning against him once more, looking for troubles where there are none to be found. Virgil repeats those thoughts again and again, in the hope that he might actually believe them. 

He can’t help but notice the shift in Patton as well, almost as though the fatherly side had eaten a whole box of cookies in the time it had taken them to leave the real world and reappear back inside the mind. The moral side seems delighted to have them all here now, something truly overwhelming happy and Virgil doesn’t really know what to make of it and he literally bounces around the room, face stretched into a wide and bright grin. It is the happiest Virgil has seen him in a very long time now. It is good, right? Patton is happy and that is all Virgil has ever wanted, to know they are all happy. 

So why does that uneasy feeling grow in his stomach, making him feel slightly nauseous? 

Then he actually looks around his spot by the stairs and sees what Patton’s room had decided to surround him with and all his worries about Patton, about Roman, about all of them, are temporary put in the shade by the sight that awaits him.

“Oh for crying out loud! Are these all your old journal entries and stories that you wrote in middle school? These are so cringy, why would they be here?” 

He doesn’t mean cringy in the strictest sense of the word. He doesn’t mean cringy at all, at least not in the way that his words might imply. They are remnants of the past and of course they won’t be as good as his word now. They were still young then, still learning, still discovering in which directions they could go. Thomas was doing his best in the situation and sure, Virgil doesn’t really like how young and unpolished a lot of that work is. Or how desperate Thomas was to be ‘edgy’ and fit in with the popular kids but that still isn’t why he considers them full of cringe. 

That has very little to do with polish and everything to do with the stories about him. The fake him. The better him. 

It was one thing to have the books and journals in Thomas’ room in boxes. It was quite another to have them spread across a wall like this where everyone could see them. What if ‘Virgil’ is in one of these stories and someone else notices? Virgil still isn’t ready for them to have that conversation, especially in the heightened atmosphere Patton’s room seems to be providing. He has no idea how to judge their reactions, they could be bad, could be extremely bad. If they found those stories, if they found that version of Virgil... well that would be cringy because he cannot help but be even more aware of the difference between the Virgil in those stories who was good and kind and brave, and the Virgil they were actually stuck with. 

The thought of Roman finding them and realising he had been ‘tricked’ into writing about Anxiety all that time makes his heart clench painfully. At least the stories are over here by him, where he can keep an eye on them. They won’t see. They can’t see. Some part of Virgil wonders if Patton knows the truth about them - why else would they be in Virgil’s little corner of the room? This is Thomas and Roman working in tandem together, this is creativity in a pure form. It should be over with Roman, with all the memories of the acting and all the good times they had made. 

There is so much going on in this room, so much stimuli. Everywhere he looks he finds a host of memories just waiting to be unpacked. Each inch of space is stuffed with books, toys, items of all and any sort. Virgil could reach out his arm without taking a step and pull out dozens of items, each of which would come with a story, a memory, a wave of emotions both good and bad. It’s giving him a headache just by being there. Virgil knew that Patton’s room stored all of this of course. He keeps everything, that's just what he does - it isn’t normally all on display through. 

The nostalgia is part of Patton but this... this is something else. Something much more than just Patton being himself. Maybe this is why he hadn’t wanted them to come into his room in the first place, and Virgil can feel all the pieces of this puzzle still hovering just that tiny bit out of reach, no matter how hard he tries to reach for them. 

He can feel himself start to sink a little, suffocating under the weight as they sing and no, people are going to see this. This is still a video, this is going to go on the internet and everyone is going to see them singing a silly little song about the rain forest. He likes it too, of course he does. It shaped such an important part of Thomas’ life, how could he not like it? Virgil has even been known to mumble a few lines from it here and there. Always in the safety of his own room though. Always where nobody could hear him and he can’t handle this.

“Stop. Please. Too much... Embarrassing.”

Amazingly they stop. They listen to him, they notice his discomfort and although they all are distracted at once by the next little thing that comes along at least they had noticed him for that one single, important second. He can hold onto that thought. Virgil can breathe again, relaxing slightly now that the focus is off him and off them all doing silly things. It means he can return to trying to help although everything still feels a little off kilter, as though he is trying to balance on one leg only and his body doesn’t know how to support his own weight. They speak of acting, of rewards earned, a golden apple appearing in Roman’s hands. Virgil remembers that, remembers hiding in the shadows and the sheer pride that had been burning in him when Thomas had won it.

He remembers being a little too slow in slipping away, remembers Roman noticing him standing there and the insults that had been hurled in his direction as a result. Virgil tries to tell himself its fine, that he understands why Roman had acted the way that he had. He had been convinced that bad old Anxiety was here to ruin the moment, that he was going to mess everything up and just cause Thomas pain. Roman had played his role perfectly there, the prince chasing off the evil villain, Virgil retreating back into the darker corners of the mind, trying not to feel the words as physical wounds. 

Virgil wishes he could look at that apple and feel the same pride as he had done the first time he saw it. He wishes he could feel something other than the worry and shame of those memories, something good, something positive but he can’t. The camera is still pointed on him though, the world waiting for his reaction and he feels as though he should say something here, remind them that he can do something beyond pleading for them to be sensible, even if it does point out just how odd Thomas really is. Virgil wishes he could think of something better to say.

“One of the first times you were awarded for acting weird.”

Attention once again drifts away from him and Virgil is able to return to his breathing, to try and calm the storm that wants to rage inside of him. He take advantage of the spotlight being off him to flick through the stories while they are all distracted. By this time in Thomas’ life it seems as though the character of Virgil is more a recurring one than a main role. He only actually appears in one or two and that is fine. Less is better because it means less chance that the others will discover his existence right now. 

There are some poems too, ones that grapple with all of the problems and issues that a teenage Thomas was facing. They are... bad. Poetry seems to be up there with dancing in things that Thomas has tried his hand at, but perhaps not gotten the hang of as well as he would have liked. It certainly isn’t something they should look back on and yet Virgil finds himself turning the pages with a morbid curiosity. 

There is one where Thomas tries to describe a girl in the way a teenage boy is meant to think of a girl. It is painfully bad, and there is no other way to put it really. He tries bless him. He really tries but it comes across so stiff, so formal, as though he is writing about sports or something else Thomas knows he is supposed to be interested in but doesn’t actually understand.

Not surprising really, considering he is gay. Virgil tries to work out how old Thomas must have been when he wrote this, cringing a little - true cringe this time, waves of embarrassment for his host rolling through him - as he reads words of a young boy trying so hard to make sense of the world, of what he was feeling. And more importantly, what he wasn’t feeling. 

Thomas’ teenage years had been a never ending period of stress for Virgil. There had been occasional bright spots of course, and while he might have been a little try hard with his desire to embrace the emo look, at least he had introduced Virgil to all of that music. That wonderful, wonderful music. Not even the thought of that can cheer him up right now however, not when he is too busy trying to justify himself to Roman again.

It isn’t as though he wanted to be a thorn in their side and Virgil can feel his own irritation rising. He isn’t the bad guy, he was never the bad guy. He was doing what he had needed to do for the sake of Thomas. Their host was starting to really learn who he was, what he wanted from life and it had been exhausting. Virgil knew he had been more than a little over enthusiastic at times but he had been only doing it for the sake of Thomas. Virgil doesn’t excuse his own actions - they had been wrong at times, no matter his intentions but he had never wanted to be either a minor nuisance or a major thorn. 

To his astonishment, Roman actually seems to notice what he is saying, because all of a sudden he is backtracking, remembering that they aren’t supposed to fight like that anymore. Virgil still feels as though he has to explain it. Only for Thomas to take over and explain it, as more pieces of his life slot neatly into place. Virgil had helped inspire some of those creative worlds Roman had built.

Those words are a little too close for comfort, hitting home and Virgil really doesn’t want them to go down that path. Apparently he had helped create the knight Virgil as well, although it is hard for him to imagine doing something good even by accident. Although his can’t help but muse bitterly that by accident is probably the only way he could. 

His head is starting to hurt. Not a headache, at least, not exactly. Not like he is used to. This is something different. He feels as though he is suffocating under the weight of everything once more but even that doesn’t explain how he is feeling, this strange tightness in his chest, a breath away from panic. Virgil knows panic, he knows fear. He is Anxiety after all and while this is so close to those feelings he can almost taste them, it still isn’t them. Virgil could handle it if it was those because he has dealt with them so many times in the past. This is something so very new, Virgil blinking a couple of times as events moved on around him.

He feels... sluggish. No longer suffocating but perhaps under water, movement and thought dulled by whatever he is submerged in. There is a faint ringing in his ears and although Virgil can feel his mouth moving, responding to something Roman said, he can’t actually hear his own words over the noise of everything else, that ringing growing louder and louder. Everyone is still talking. Or rather, everyone is making noises of some sort, some high pitched, some low. They all blend together, joining in with the whining in his head until Virgil can no longer work out who is even talking, let alone what they might be saying. 

This loss of control cuts into him, a shard of ice that makes him kick up against the pressure, to try and fight his way free. Virgil makes another movement with his mouth, a cry for help that could be anything. He could have shouted or whispered for all of the difference it makes. 

Logan is the only one who looks at him, Logan is the only one who notices and he can feel his panic rising, mixing with whatever is holding him down. It fills him up until he can barely think. Nobody else has noticed he is struggling, nobody else seems to care and a tiny part of him knows that he isn’t being fair to the others. They are all so busy, so caught up in the currents as well, it isn’t their job to look after him. Virgil is supposed to be the one to do that, to protect them and while they might have gotten used to him being here, that doesn’t mean they think to protect him. Not when they shouldn’t have to. He knows he is lucky that Logan noticed.

“Virgil? Are you okay?”

It is all he can do to shake his head to Logan’s question. That takes more strength than Virgil thought he had, admitting there is a problem, asking for help. His fingers feel raw and bloody as he tries to cling to a metaphorical rock face, the water trying just as hard to pull him back and Virgil can feel his hold loosening. 

Everything is spiralling down. Down, down, deeper and down. The world is spinning a little the colours starting to blur and bleed together until shape becomes as distorted and as useless as noise and it is as though he is on some horrible funfair ride, with no way to get off. Virgil thinks he sees the shape that is Logan look at him and for a second he tries to kid himself with the idea that the logical side might actually be worried for him. 

There is no way to know for sure. He can’t even be sure if Logan has actually looked back at him, but Virgil wants to hope so. He can feel himself start to retreat, to hide behind the book as though it will be a physical shield against the rising sickness, against the surge of fear that comes screaming towards him. 

This is as good as things are going to get. Thomas has had his peaks, his good times. He has been in love and what if he never get that again? What if he is never happy again? What if he doesn’t win any more awards, if he has peaked and become as good as an actor that he can ever be and everything now will just be a slow descent into darkness. What if his friends start treating him differently, if they grow tired of Thomas struggling with his feelings and start to drift apart? Friendships end all the time, but what if he never makes any new friends, what if he never has those rich bonds and connections again? What if he never gets to visit - safely - any of those places still on his wishlist? What if his fans stop liking his newer content and think he ‘sold out’ or something? 

Virgil lifts a hand to his head as he breathes out, trying to will away the terrible, negative thoughts that are filling the air around him but each shallow breath just pulls in more fear, more panic as the good memories become brittle, sugar snaps against his teeth, biting reminders of what had been and what wouldn’t come around again.

He doesn’t like this. This isn’t Patton’s room as he remembers, Patton would never do anything to hurt him but this feels like hurt and it is wrong, it is painful, tiny little slashes cutting into him. Never deep but they somehow hurt all the more for that, all his nerve endings aflame with sensations, with his own self loathing, with the fact he is the one holding Thomas back, he is the one keeping him from ever having those happy feelings again. Virgil wants to cry but his voice seems stolen from him, and all he can do is stand there and feel... it all. 

Please. He doesn’t like this. 

“Virgil, that’s not happening... right?” 

Thomas’ voice is directed at him. It cuts through the haze and although he doesn’t know what was said before, he can make a well educated guess that Logan was trying to alert the rest of them to how he was feeling. For a brief, wonderful moment, everything is clear and crisp once more. He can see Thomas staring at him in genuine concern. Virgil doesn’t want to worry them, he never wants to worry them, his need for help warring with his need to keep them safe. Virgil feels almost lightheaded, seasick, as though he is floating on top of the choppy waves instead of submerged below them. 

A question had been asked, Virgil feeling his head bob a little as he glances around, trying to find some bright point he can use to anchor himself. That brief moment of clarity is slipping away all too quickly, Virgil feeling himself start to sink under the waves once more. He has to protect. He needs to protect, and nothing else matters but that. If he is reduced to nothing else, he will still protect. 

_**“NO...”**_ The word comes out distorted, his hand slapping across his face but it is too late, the damage is done. They saw his weaknesses, his flaws, they saw him struggle when he is supposed to be strong. He lied to them. 

He _lied_ to them.

This isn’t right. None of this is right, he shouldn’t be feeling this and they shouldn’t be here. Virgil has to take this though, has to feel all the anxiety because if he lets some of it past then it will start to seep into Thomas properly and Thomas isn’t ready to face all of this. He is still feeling the glow of happiness that all these good memories bring, the feeling of enjoying what had once been. How can Virgil take than from him and make him feel everything he is feeling right now? How can he let him wallow in such pain when for the first time since this whole mess started, Thomas seems really happy?

True, Virgil can’t really see his expression, but he had been excited before Virgil had gotten him all worried so maybe he is back to excited. Virgil hopes so, blinking slowly as the world slides out of focus once more. They are arguing again. Voice blurring around him, making it impossible to know who is saying what until without warning, there is silence.

The lack of sound hurts even more than the fighting, because Virgil knows the charged energy this silence is giving out. He can feel it strengthening his own fears, his own anxieties. This is a hurtful fight and something has been said, a line has been crossed that should never have even been approached. He breathes out, the world solidifying around him even as he wishes it hadn’t because it lets him see properly once more. It is as though someone has landed a punch to his gut, knocking the air out of him. 

Logan is gone. Just... gone.

Logan left them all, and how are they supposed to manage without Logan there? Virgil could barely keep them on any sort of track when he was feeling at his best. He certainly wasn’t in any fit state to look after them now, to keep them from going off on too many terrible tangents. Roman and Patton seem to be in charge now although even that isn’t really the case. Their worst parts of their traits are in charge, rushing them along on a white water ride without a care in the world.

Impulsiveness rules all, a thought that shakes him down to his core and without Logan he has nothing to lean on, no support to keep himself in this moment. Not unless Thomas realises how much he is struggling and he has already lied to his host once. Why would he believe him now, if he were to turn around and say the exact opposite? Virgil breathes, another choking little gasp, soft and barely there. 

Please, Virgil doesn’t like this, he can’t handle this. He didn’t realise how much it would hurt, a howling, angry fury inside of him, rattling his bones and making every inch of him ache.

Please...


	29. Trust me, and take my hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Virgil might be trying to be more open about things now, but that doesn’t mean that Thomas gets a free pass. Especially when it is about something as serious as this and Virgil is still his Anxiety, this is still what he does. Neither of them are going to get any sleep tonight are they. His bed is calling to him, pleading for him but Virgil has to put Thomas first, even if this is a job he no doubt wishes Virgil wouldn’t do.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Videos and aftermaths. What should be an exercise in clearing the air only leaves Virgil more confused than ever - just what are Logan and Roman up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Video covered in this is **Moving On Part 2 - Dealing With a Breakup.** All lines from it belong to Thomas  & Co. The second part of the pain that is this two parter. Chapter title is again from _Pain_ by **Three Days Grace** , and in fact the line directly after the last chapter. Another bumper chapter today, I’m going to try and stick to more reasonable lengths from here on out but I really wanted to reach this point in the story. 
> 
> I know I don’t say it enough but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for every comment and kudo you guys leave. This story has grown so much from its original idea and it has grown so long that I have to be honest, I have been very conflicted as to what to do these last few chapters. I still have maybe a third of the story left to tell and I have doubted if I should carry this on, if people still cared because of the length of it. So to read your comments and know that you are still reading and still caring... yeah it means everything to me so thank you so very much. 
> 
> Also I don’t normally big up the next chapters, but chapter thirty? That one is gonna be a big ‘un, you don’t want to miss it. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

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### Trust me, and take my hand

** **

Everything is going wrong. So very wrong and Virgil needs to... Virgil needs to do _something_. That same vague warning is still flashing in his mind although it is even more muted than before. It feels more like a dull ache now, day old bruises sporting across invisible skin and Virgil is pressing probing fingers against them, tracing an outline of the never was. He can breathe without his throat closing up against the pain, and although the world is still a mess of colours and shapes, it is gradually coming into some kind of focus.

Thomas is aware of the anxiety coursing through his system now. As much as Virgil tries to hoard it like some demented dragon, intent of keeping all the bad shiny thoughts for himself, some of them are slipping through because Thomas is actually thinking about why he feels the way he does. He is examining the reasons behind them all and as much as Virgil hates the idea that Thomas is feeling some of the bad thoughts and emotions, he cannot lie and pretend he doesn’t feel a little better now that some of the pressure if lifted from his chest.

Does that make him a terrible side? A terrible excuse of an Anxiety? 

Virgil doesn’t even know anymore. It doesn’t feel as though he knows much of anything, anymore. He knows they need to leave this room but he doesn’t know precisely why beyond general doom and terror. He knows that they have to actually deal with the problem because dancing around it isn’t helping anymore but without Logan on hand to help, he doesn’t know how they can do that. He knows cannot stop Thomas from feeling anything, if that is what his host decides he wants to do. Virgil doesn’t know _why_ Thomas would want to feel these things. He doesn’t know how to actually help Thomas. 

He doesn’t know what they are going to do next and that scares him.

Hand lift, pulling his hood up and over his head, trying not to growl as loudly as he wants to. The world is coming into sharper and sharper focus with every passing second and it makes him feel more unsettled by the moment. Nausea swirls around him, and for one horrible moment he thinks he might honestly throw up. Thankfully, the urge passes, the tidal wave of sickness fading slightly although it is still there, just waiting for its chance. 

Roman surges into action once more, his influence overwhelming everything else. Sickness and fear are shifted, replaced by hope, dreams, fantasies. Thoughts of love and how they could have that wonderful emotion once more. They colour the air around them, and for a moment it even feels as though some of those thoughts and feelings might be directed towards Virgil - until reality kicks in thanks to a dose of anxiety and Virgil is reminded exactly how much of a bad idea this really is and how hard he has worked to stop this happening in the first place. 

That isn’t Virgil’s area of expertise. He wants to touch the romance of course, he wants to let those warm feelings in, wants to embrace them so badly but that - that isn’t what he is. It isn’t anything he can ever have. Virgil is the one who worries about all the bad things that could happen without ever allowing himself to feel the good. He would destroy romance if he tried to touch it, would infect it with his darkness and destroy it from the inside out. Virgil couldn’t let that happen.

He grunts again, fingers curled tight around the edge of his hood, pulling it tighter down around his face, trying to hide in the darkness it creates, trying to let the added weigh comfort him, ground him and Virgil desperately needs to be grounded right about now because Roman is fully in charge. This is worse than daydream mode, because Patton’s room is magnifying everything it shouldn’t. It overrides any remaining hints of logic, it overrides Thomas’ own doubts and thoughts that are bubbling along under the surface so that he doesn’t stop to think about if this is a good idea or not. 

He knows that they shouldn’t call Thomas’ ex. Virgil knows that his ex shouldn’t pick up - but they do and he does. 

No!

No, they can’t do this, they can’t, they can’t, they ca-

_**“Hang up!”** _

Virgil hates how his voice echos and cracks still, he hates the power that it brings him sometimes and he hates how he uses it right now, his words rising up and over any power that Roman or Patton might have over Thomas, how he cuts the conversation with their ex dead before it can even start. 

Everything falls apart because of that. He did something and it all falls apart, they fall apart, his brief moment of control cracking and splintering as they all start to panic and spiral. Virgil doesn’t know what to do, words rising and dying in his throat before they can actually form. He lifts a hand and drops it again, his mind spinning uselessly. It is no comfort to know the other two are equally lost, because that means they are equally unhelpful in aiding Thomas and someone... someone needs to help him. Someone needs to offer advice, to grant direction because right now they are flailing about uselessly, lost in the dark.

Virgil really wishes Logan was still here. He would know what to do, he always knew what to do. Logic was the perfect thing to calm anxiety, to filter out the worst of his cognitive distortions - so long as he reminded himself that Logan isn’t aiming any of his words at him, he isn’t mad at him or any of the things his brain tells him. Logan tries to help when he works on filtering out the worst of his own intrusive thoughts. Logan would help, Logan would help, why isn’t Logan here anymore?

“Now, Roman, lying is wrong.”

Lying _is_ wrong. Patton should know, he is morality. It sparks... something, inside of him, a strange little nugget of thought that Virgil wishes he could think about clearly but Thomas is too busy agreeing on how he doesn’t want to lie for him to be able to focus on that right now, thought pushed to the back of his mind to be examined later, if he can. Virgil knows he should be proud of Thomas’ view on lying, but this ride is still off the rails, rushing wildly off course with no end in sight.

More than anything, Virgil just wants this to stop. 

Roman does not stop. Virgil doesn’t think he is capable of stopping, because all he wants is for Thomas to be happy. That is all he has ever wanted, and so he charges into battle without another thought, all for the sake of the person they love more than anyone else in the world. He pushes and pushes, forcing them all to face up to the fact that Thomas hasn’t moved on from his ex. That he hasn’t even started to move on because he has been too busy wishing and hoping that things could magically fix themselves and go back to how they had once been. Roman pushes down on a tender spot, all to prove his point, confident that he is right and this is what they have to do in order to face reality.

Thomas finally realises his own feelings.

Virgil would be so proud of him, if he wasn’t so busy currently trying to ascend to another level and become an anxiety burrito, hood pressed tight around his head. 

Of course the phone chooses this moment to start to ring, derailing Roman’s apology and making him forget anything he might have just learnt as the fantasy of getting back together with their ex shimmers back into life as a possibility. Even Virgil wonders if some part of Thomas’ ex wishes they could try again, even though he knows that would only lead to pain for them both. No, this isn’t right, this isn’t the way forward.

They can’t answer the phone. They can’t hurt him, they can’t hurt themselves and Virgil won’t let Thomas hurt himself like this, not when he had already admitted this isn’t what he wants, not really. Thomas needs him and that cuts through everything else, hood flying from his head as Virgil stands tall once more, gaze intent and focused. 

_**“Get rid of it - get rid of the phone now!”**_

With a war cry, Thomas does exactly that - and Virgil really should have phrased that better as the phone bounces and smashes on the ground, cutting off the phone call without ever letting it connect and well... that got rid of the phone alright. He exhales heavily, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to find the words to explain himself. 

_**“I meant like - set it down or something...”** _

Thomas panicked. Of course he did, Virgil had forced his influence through him without any regard for how it would actually feel for Thomas, how he wouldn’t be able to react sensibly because Virgil wasn’t thinking sensibly. It is all very well for him to say what he ‘meant’ but that didn’t change what he had actually done. He needs to calm down. He _needs_ to calm down, for the sake of Thomas, Virgil pressing his fingers lightly together as he works on his breathing exercises, fighting his way back to some sense of normally, swallowing down his tempest tongue while Thomas works his way along his own path.

For once, they are all working together at last, all fumbling towards a shared end goal. Thomas is willing to listen to them, to let what each of them are feeling be a part of the conversation as they try and work out just what is happening to them. Virgil even regains control of his normal voice, swallowing down the last of his double echo to offer some words of his own.

They need this - Thomas needs this. To talk through his feelings, to circle it and try to start to understand it. It isn’t an easy thing of course. They all have their own wounds, their own lack of understanding in why Thomas is feeling this way. They are all parts of him after all, aspects that can only see certain angles. At the end of the day, only Thomas could put it all together. Virgil cannot help the soft little groan the slips free at the sight of the fishing hook and really, out of everything in this story, why did he have to have this? 

It is probably better than the playbill that Roman is holding, Thomas slowly picking his way through the start of the relationship. The start of what came before the relationship. They know the story already of course, they know the highs and they know the lows. Oh, how well Virgil knows the lows. This is partly for the benefit of the cameras still creating this video and Virgil can feel another swell of pride - fear - within his chest at how brave Thomas is, to show his pain to the world.

It hurts. 

And it hurts.

Sometimes, Virgil wonders if it will ever stop hurting. The effort they had gone to, the stress Thomas had put himself through to talk to him, to become friends and then more. The way in which he had worked so hard to be more social, to put himself in situations he might not have originally wanted, all to make the relationship work, for it to be an equal partnership. And now it is over, and it hurts. 

“But it was worth it. I’m sure it was.” 

That’s his Thomas. So brave, so _good_ and as much as it is hurting now, even Virgil can see that this is helping him. This is letting him start to take a step towards saying goodbye to this relationship for good. Anything that can make Thomas smile at him like that has to be worth it. 

This pain has to be worth it, Thomas’ eyes drifting to the hook in his hand and slowly the tale of fishing comes out. Or, at least, it starts to come out before Patton interrupts the whole thing with one of his pun based jokes, which normally would be normal for Patton but there is something about it this time that makes Virgil’s breath stutter just a fraction, that same something from when he had mentioned lying reappearing in his mind. 

This is wrong. Patton laughing right now is wrong and Virgil can’t shake that sensation away, even as his mind stubbornly refused to actually form any coherent thoughts. All he can focus on is that is is wrong. All he can pass along to Thomas is the same, and Virgil wishes more than ever, that he wasn’t so vague. So unhelpful.

Except, it seems as though Thomas doesn’t need any help from him when it comes to this, his host gathering all the various strands of his various traits and sides, letting them all come together and make sense of it all. Feeling the influence of Logan, despite the logical side no longer being here.

“Falsehood.” 

Thomas calls Patton out on his lies? Patton who knows that lying is wrong, who works so hard to keep them all honest and happy. Patton who would hate to learn that anyone had been talking bad about themselves or had been acting fine and refusing help when they need it. 

Patton who lies about himself everyday, who wears a mask of the laughing man as though it was his natural skin. Patton who is hurting and doesn’t want to admit it. Patton who is more than just happy or silly, and Virgil finds himself hoping that these words will help, that they will break down some walls and make him realise that it is okay to be sad sometimes. It isn’t that he wants Patton to be sad. Not at all. Virgil would like nothing better than to have Patton happy all of the time.

That isn’t the way the world works though.

Virgil personally, would settle for being happy a fraction of the time, but Patton has always deserved so much more than him. Patton deserves the world and sometimes, that comes with sad. Storm clouds follow sunshine and sunshine follows storm clouds.

Just not his own storm clouds. 

It is a lovely, touching moment nevertheless. Thomas talking about his time on the water, reminding them all of how much he had hated it - Virgil had hated it too, not so much dealing with the fish, although that hadn’t been pleasant. By far the worse thing had been the fact they were stuck on the boat. There was no flight available to them and even from a young age, Virgil had been pretty confident that he couldn’t fight his way out. Or rather, that he shouldn’t.

There was nothing he could do to help while they were fishing and it just turned him into an even more anxious mess than usual, which in turn, reflected back onto Thomas. It was amazing really, that they had been invited back to the boat. That they kept getting invited back, and yet it happened. Thomas’ uncle even insisted he bring along his boyfriend and that, that had been very stressful for Virgil to deal with. This whole thing is stressful, and Virgil can feel it all building up in them. As well as... a desire for a pun?

Please, not a pun. Then again, it is Thomas and Patton is such a large part of Thomas. So of course he can’t resist the urge to make some pun to break the tension and ruin the moment. Virgil huffs and looks away, although he doesn’t mind it as much as he claims. He has missed Thomas making those kind of jokes. He has missed Thomas so much. 

Thomas smiling and being happy, as brief as it, is worth the pun. Then they dip back into sadness, into the pain and the bad moments that had come with the relationship. The moments that hopefully they can actually think about. Ever since Thomas and his boyfriend had broken up, it had felt that Virgil was the only one who had thought of the bad moments. 

Logan, after a brief spell of reflecting on the past, had preferred not to think about it at all. Roman had spent all his time dreaming of ways to make the past, the present again, to breath new life into it all, and Patton had simply thought of the happier moments and refused to acknowledge anything that was less than perfect. Virgil had wanted to think of the happier times, btu it had looped back so quickly to the moment when they had fought, when they had each hurt the other, often without meaning to - but sometimes they had, sometimes the pain and rage and pettiness had built up and one of them had done something just to annoy the other. It wasn’t healthy, but then the end of relationships so rarely were and this had been near the end. 

Virgil had used those thoughts to keep himself strong, to remind them all time and time again, that Thomas can’t go back to his ex, no matter how much such a large part of him wants to. 

No matter how much Thomas still loves him. 

He needs to move on from this pain. From the love, from the good times and the bad. From him. Virgil wishes he had some more answers, had something that made more sense but what else can he say beyond the fact that they need to move on. All of them. Even Patton agrees, and Virgil cannot help but feel so proud of him as he tries to find a way through this emotional minefield, as he finally admits that his emotions have been all over the place. That while they still love him, it is time to accept what has happened. It is time to accept the bad, as well as the good. 

Roman steps in at this point, brave Roman, loyal Roman. Prince Roman, who has finally taken that breath and second thought, who is there to support Thomas once more. Who reminds him of how far he has come and how each step is the journey, that they are making their way forward - even if it is without their ex. Even if it is just one step at a time. Virgil feels so proud of him as well, his own emotions and feelings almost bursting at the seams. They are doing so well, they are dealing with everything and helping Thomas, letting him feel better about feeling bad. 

Only for them to instantly start to slide back towards the negative feelings, the ones that have no hope because they are ashamed to still feel bad after all this time and Virgil can’t let them feel like that, can’t let them think that there is something wrong with them because of how they feel.

For the first time in a very long time, the words come easily to Virgil. They are words that Remy has told him in the past, sentiments that Patton has shared with him more than once and perhaps they will help now. They are the truth if nothing else. How often has Virgil waded through his own negative feelings after all, caught in the mud and feeling as though he might never get past them? How many times has he been comforted and reminded of this simple truth? It is easy enough to finally be allowed to return the favour. 

“How you’re reacting for however long is completely normal - not bad, not strange, not stupid.” 

Thankfully, they seem to listen and Virgil can feel more of his stress leaving him now that he - like the rest of them - are finally accepting it all. While they had to accept the bad, he knows he needs to accept the good, to allow himself to think of the love that had been shared and despite everything, how wonderful it had been in the moment. He isn’t alone anymore and that is important too, Virgil offering his support as best as he can. 

He tries not to think about how stale the words sound in his own mind, how the hypocrisy has to be visible in his face - non-judgemental in the face of your own feelings? How can he say the words and mean them as much as he does when Virgil is nothing but judgemental about his own wrong feelings and flaws? Easily, when he doesn’t matter compared to them, when if it came to a choice as to who could feel bad and who could feel good, he would chose them in a heartbeat. 

Roman gives him that _look_ again, as if something has just occurred to the regal side, Virgil swallowing down the desire to demand to know what he is thinking when Virgil says it is okay to be self-aware of what you’re feeling. It is probably just to do with the topic at hand, the conversation about Thomas and his love life. If Virgil repeats that thought to himself enough times he might even start to believe it. 

It is enough to shake him a little, to force some vulnerability of his own out as he finally admits his own fear, the thing that has been haunting him since this whole mess started. The thing that reminded him time and time again of how badly he was failing Thomas and the rest. 

“I-I just wish I could have been more help. I’ve always been the one who worried about losing the people that you loved. And that happened. And... I haven’t known what to do since.” 

It isn’t Thomas’ job to reassure him and yet Thomas effortlessly moves to do just that, telling him that he has been doing his best and that it is okay. Thomas isn’t mad or upset with him, and best of all, he isn’t even disappointed. 

The flutter of pride, of sheer joy is impossible to ignore. Thomas’ approval is like a drug in its own right, as if he has downed several shots of strong alcohol and the whole world is buzzing as a result. Virgil almost feels normal again - or at least he feels less bad than before. Things are still wrong - Logan, Logan, he needs Logan back, he needs the calming presence of the logical side to keep himself stable - but they have finally talked about things, they have started to work out a plan of action. It makes him feel nervous, worried about what can still go wrong but at least they have a plan. And Virgil feeling nervous is pretty much par for the course after all.

He still feels as close to normal as he has in a long time. Close enough to join in with the game from before, hoping that for once he has judged the mood of the group correctly, that Roman won’t think he is trying to attack Thomas or drag the mood down. It doesn’t really fit with the conversation but his mind betrays him as usual, refusing to let him think of a more appropriate song. 

“A bushel and a peck.” 

They laugh. They approve and Virgil sags a little in relief, pleased that he hadn’t managed to destroy everything after all, willingly sinking out as they return to the real world at last. 

Rising up feels _awful_. How do they manage to do that every episode? He feels lightheaded and dizzy, so very sick and all he wants to do is drop back down and hug the floor until the world stops spinning. He has half bobbed back up once or twice, but that is nothing compared to the rush of blood that has come with this and he feels so sick.

Not for the first time, Virgil is struck by how different he really is to those he would call his friends, his family. Not for the first time he remembers an inconvenient truth about himself. 

Dark Sides don’t rise up. 

The thought cuts into his good mood like Roman’s sword slashing through an enemy, chilling his blood and freezing him for a moment and even the feeling of sickness is pressed down by that. They all know he appears instead of rising up of course, they know he is different. None of the others seem to have any issues with it, they have never made any comment beyond Logan’s eerily good imitation of his method of entering the real world.

Dark Sides appear, Light Sides rise up. Virgil cannot shake his past, no matter how much he wishes he was anything else, and remembering the truth about his origins just reminds him of how badly he is lying to them, hiding the truth from them all. 

Feelings of sickness return even stronger within him now, self loathing rising up in him like an old friend, wrapping itself around his neck and threatening to squeeze tight. The reappearance of Logan is like a lifeline, an escape for now, from all his own thoughts and fears. He can focus on something far more important and deny his own feelings of inadequacy in order to be the protector, in order to do his job.

Logan is back. Virgil swallows down his relief to scold him instead. Not just for leaving them but for leaving Thomas, just as he had once tried to do. Logan is so much better than him, he would never leave Thomas completely, of course he wouldn’t. He would never hurt them like that, would never be so selfish as to think of only his own thoughts and feelings. Logan was backing away without removing himself completely. It was as Roman had said, once upon a time, sometimes the best way was to get out of a bad situation and that had been bad for Logic. Leaving had forced Thomas to notice him, had started them really focusing where they needed to and got them on the path towards healing. 

His annoyance is transitory, Logan forgiven even before he finishes speaking and Virgil understands why he had done what he had done. All that matters now is that he is back and they are all okay. Virgil can hardly blame him - if he had been capable of leaving and bringing the others with him, even if they hadn’t wanted to go, Virgil would have done just that. 

Virgil very studiously ignored the tiny voice that whispered he would never have left on his own, no matter how bad things had gotten. After all, he had tried to leave them all behind once before so he is in no position to talk. 

The cat hoodie is a nice touch on Logan’s part, Patton’s joy a sight to behold. The fact that he is allergic to cats doesn’t take away his enjoyment of them - Virgil would never admit it, but he rather enjoys sitting by an open window on a sunny day, feeling the breeze on his face and enjoying the warmth despite his own claims that he is allergic to the giant ball of death that burns in the sky. 

It is still a nice thing for Logan to do, and of course Roman has to try and show he cares as well, has to one up him somehow, even if Virgil doesn’t think he is really aware of what he is doing in that regard. He doubts Roman sees it as trying to be better, it is just in his nature. And when he does what he does, it is hard to be resentful of the creative side attempting to hog all the attention.

Puppies? Roman can conjure _puppies_? 

Well, it is hard to remain annoyed and filled with self loathing at the sight of the two of them cuddling puppies and looking so very pleased with themselves, so very happy at getting to hold them. They all look so adorable together and Virgil holds onto that feeling as hard as he can, knowing full well he is going to need it to get through the next few days. 

He sinks out, letting Logan and Patton finish things up with Thomas, letting his his heart and his logic truly talk without any further distactions. That is what his host really needs and Virgil breaths out slowly, settling himself before he slips back into the common room for the end card. He can feel Thomas in the back of his mind, feel his pain and his anxiety as he finally walks through moments of his relationship. Virgil lets him have this moment in peace. 

Of course things come back around to the Rain forest Rap. Virgil can’t help but tug his hood tight back around his head, seriously reconsidering the decision not to become an anxiety burrito. He bets burritos don’t have to deal with his friends singing and embarrassing him. 

“Is it too late to be an outcast again?” He doesn’t mean the words and really, Virgil feels it is a sign of how much he has grown, that he can acknowledge what had once been, as well as feeling confident that they won’t toss him back out in the cold. Today, at least, he believes his own joke. Today is all that he can allow himself to think about, this one moment. One step in front of another. 

Patton smiles and it _seems_ real, but then Virgil had thought that about some of the smiles before and recent events had proved he had been wrong. 

Always wrong.

He has to ask, has to be sure and thankfully the others all want to know too. Even better, thankfully Patton seems to be okay today and Virgil takes that as proof that he was right to ask, because the other side isn’t annoyed at him for caring. Patton won’t be okay everyday, Virgil knows that too but this is still okay because he is trying, because, like Thomas, he is facing those bad feelings head on and embracing them, working through them. Patton’s words are reassuring, something truthful in them.

The pun certainly helps reassure him too and finally, Virgil feels himself give a soft smile of relief, feeling part of himself settle. For a moment at least. 

\--

Normally the aftermath of a video was cause for celebration. They had managed to guide Thomas through yet another dilemma and they had all come out the otherside intact. Thomas had learned something new, hopefully about himself but at the very least about the world at large. He was a - hopefully - better person because of what they had talked about. In the old days, Virgil would either reappear directly in his room or would scurry up there as soon as he could, aware of how unwelcome and unwanted he was.

After being accepted things had changed of course. Patton had smiled and sat next to him and gently insisted that Virgil come down that evening if he was up for it, for a movie and popcorn night. Apparently it was what they always did to wind down in the evening after a video and Virgil couldn’t even bring himself to be upset at what he had missed out on because he is being included now and it isn’t out of pity but love. His heart had been singing even as he had shrugged and mumbled a ‘whatever’ that hadn’t fooled Patton for an instant. 

That had been a good night, and the first of the movie nights he had been invited to, but by far from the last. There had been laugher, popcorn, movie after movie until they had started to fall asleep on the couch before Logan had insisted they all go to bed and get some rest. As if Virgil was going to get any sleep after a night like that. He spent hours in bed just replaying every little moment, making sure he was committing everything to memory, locking it away so that he could always hold onto it, so he could bring out those memories when the days were bad. Roman had promised that after the next video they would each get to pick a movie, have an epic marathon.

Somehow, Virgil didn’t think they were going to be doing that this time. 

He just felt exhausted and he was sure he wasn’t the only one. Patton was still drained, but at least he was letting some of that exhaustion show on his face, tired, worn down by the emotional rollercoaster they had all be on. He had ruffled Virgil’s hair as he passed him on the couch, mumbling something about taking a nap. Virgil really hoped that he managed to get some sleep.

Roman had run off to his room the second he had returned to the mind, vaguely proclaiming that he had something important to make and he would see them all later. Virgil made a note to try and speak to Roman later, to make sure he was okay. He would check in on Patton tomorrow, after he had been given the chance to sleep. Roman wasn’t planning to sleep it seemed and so he could talk to him. Apologise for some of the things he had said about Roman’s work. Except that might lead to having to explain why he had said some of the things he had said.

Virgil has no idea how he is going to have that conversation. It feels as though lately his life has been nothing but a series of revelations, of admitting one truth after another. His name is Virgil, he likes purple, he got his name from Thomas, he loves them all so very much. They all come tumbling out of him, one after another and it is exhausting to think that he might have to have yet another one so soon. What would Roman do, when he reminds him of the knight Virgil? 

Later. He will speak to Roman later. He will solve that problem later. 

Thomas isn’t perfectly okay either and Virgil knows he is going to be paying a visit to their host sooner rather than later. Possibly tonight after everyone else has gone to sleep because he might want to comfort him but they still need to talk about a lot of things that Thomas is no doubt secretly hoping that Virgil will have forgotten about.

Like that phone call they made and what on earth Thomas’ ex has to think of them now. Prank calling them? Really? Virgil supposes they are lucky that it was only a phone call and not the text like Roman had wanted. That would have been so much worse, but things are still terrible and Thomas still messed up.

Bad.

Virgil might be trying to be more open about things now, but that doesn’t mean that Thomas gets a free pass. Especially when it is about something as serious as this and Virgil is still his Anxiety, this is still what he does. Neither of them are going to get any sleep tonight are they. His bed is calling to him, pleading for him but Virgil has to put Thomas first, even if this is a job he no doubt wishes Virgil wouldn’t do. 

Headphones are conjured up from his room, Virgil letting them rest on his head, their weight and size comforting him, grounding him in the present. Pointless, since he is planning to go to his room to try and rest a little before going to see Thomas for their lovely early morning chat but he hadn’t wanted to wait that extra ninety odd seconds it would take to reach his room before gaining the comfort he needs so badly from them. He rolls his head around on his neck, trying to ease the stiffness as he climbs the stairs towards their bedrooms, mentally running through the list of topics to bring up with Thomas. Perhaps he should write a proper list, itemise it. Logan would be proud of him for having a list and they might get through all the ways in which life is ruined and there is still time to become a hermit if he has a list to use. 

Speaking of Logan, the logical side is the only one visible in the hallways, pacing two steps backwards and forwards as though he is some caged wild beast. His hand is lifted against the knot of his tie, fingers dancing restlessly over the fabric there, betraying his unease. Virgil doesn’t understand why he seems so nervous - the video is over. Messy, complicated emotions have been dealt with as best they can and Logan should be pleased because he doesn’t have to deal with them anymore. Hopefully, he won’t have to handle them in the future. 

“Virgil,” Logan greeted stiffly and Virgil can’t help but tense slightly. He had heard that tone before and it had never meant anything good. Frantically, his mind ran over the video yet again, searching for whatever it was that he had done wrong, whatever it was that made Logan unhappy with him. Should he have argued further to leave Patton’s room? Or maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all, maybe Logan was annoyed at him for bringing up the issue in the first place. Maybe he should have just left Thomas alone after he admitted he was feeling bad and left the video for another day.

What had he done to make Logan say his name in such a cold and disdainful fashion, as though they were back to being Logic and Anxiety? 

Carefully, Virgil pulls his headphones done, letting them rest around his neck so that he could hear Logan clearly and whatever he had done, he needed to know exactly so that he could work out how to fix it. Even his fingers had stilled in their normally nervous dance of their own and Virgil can feel his breath in his throat, holding in a great mouthful of air as he waits for whatever Logan has to say.

“I wish to apologise.”

“Okay...?” Air escapes him in a great gush of a sigh, Virgil feeling his whole body relax slightly. That... was not where he had expected Logan to go in this conversation, not at all. 

“I was well aware that you were experiencing discomfort within Patton’s room and that I was the only one who seemed truly aware of it and yet at the merest hint of difficulty, I elected to leave the whole situation. I abandoned you when you needed me and left you at the mercy of both yours and Thomas’ rising anxiety and for that, I must humbly beg your forgiveness.” 

“It’s okay,” Virgil tells him and it feels as though he has been saying that a lot lately. Maybe it is because everyone is suddenly apologising to him all the time and he has never had this many before. Virgil isn’t sure he has really had anyone apologise to him before the others started doing it and now they seem unable to stop. 

Logan frowns slightly, Virgil pushing down the irrational fear that expression creates as best he can. It is impossible to ignore it all however, to completely blank out the voice that whispers in his mind at how it isn’t fair, it doesn’t make any _sense_ for the other side to become angry now. Logan said sorry and Virgil accepted it, why would he be frowning for that? 

“I hardly see how that is possible Virgil. What I did, while not deliberately filled with malice was still... rude. Cruel. You needed me and I... failed you.” 

Why can nobody just accept his acceptance? Everyone seems so determined to do more than just apologise to him. Virgil knows the routine by heart, you are sorry (or not), you say sorry and then the person you are apologising to, accepts it (or not). It is a familiar dance by now, although Virgil is used to being on the other side of it all. He doesn’t want them to apologise to him because it doesn’t matter. Because _he_ doesn’t matter. Virgil knows them well enough now to know Logan wouldn’t like that train of thought, that he would get a funny look, disagreement tinted with concern and that isn’t what he wants from this conversation right now. 

“The room was affecting you too Logan, it's not your fault that you reacted the way in which you did.” Virgil knows he has made a mistake as soon as he says the words, Logan instantly stiffening, somehow looking more remote and uncomfortable. 

“What? Impossible. Patton’s room is based on emotions and you know that I am not connected to those aspects of Thomas’ mind.” 

“No, No, I don’t mean...” Virgil trailed off, drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth and wow, that was a conversation he really needed to have with Logan. A conversation they _all_ needed to have. It would turn into an argument of course, but it was something they had to talk about because Virgil is the king of unhealthy coping mechanisms and even he is in awe sometimes of the way Logan denies any and all feelings he might possess. Right now he just needs to explain his point, prove that he hadn’t actually been thinking of emotion, and that it wasn’t Logan’s fault he had ended up leaving. 

“Nostalgia effects logic right? It... pushes it to the side, it makes you ignore and overwhelm your logic? Thomas literally couldn’t hear your influence, and if Thomas couldn’t listen then none of us could. Even if you had stayed, you wouldn’t have been able to help. By physically leaving you drew attention to the real problem and you left enough of yourself there so that Thomas could finally be helped.” 

Logan tilts his head to the side, considering his words carefully, weighing them up, this way and that, trying to decide if he could believe Virgil or not.

“That... does make sense,” he admits at last, some of the stress slipping from Virgil’s shoulders at those words. “I am still sorry.”

“And I forgive you... hey Logan? There is something that I don’t... that I don’t understand,” Virgil admitted softly. “I’ve been in Patton’s room before, plenty of times. I’ve fallen asleep on his bed before and it has never affected me like that. What has changed? Is it me?” 

Sweet Disney Princes, but he hopes it wasn’t his fault, his influence at play. Virgil cannot imagine what he could have done to trigger such a change but it was a bad reaction and so it stands to reason that the fault is his own. Logan shakes his head in disagreement, Virgil holding onto to that eagerly and Logan wouldn’t lie to him to spare his feelings - out of all of them, Logan is the most honest. He might get confused sometimes and he certainly tries to soften harsh truths but he does that with other truths, not fabrications.

Gosh, Virgil is even starting to think like him, use big words and he wonders if Logan would be impressed or threatened. 

“I would hypothesise that the issue there was not any of us individually, but the quantity. All four of us within the room, and Thomas on top of that created some kind of feedback loop that worked against us all,” Logan says and that... that does make sense. Thomas changes so much when he enters his own mind, Virgil has seen that. He has never gone into his echoing tempest tongue so calmly before they had all entered his room. 

His room. The thought brings him up short, eyes widening as a brand new thought occurs to him, something fragile and beautiful, something positive for once. 

“So... you mean... if one of you on your own came into my room for longer than a few minutes it might not hurt you?” 

Virgil tries to imagine what that would be like. If he could trust himself, trust his room to not hurt his friends. If they could come and see him without the eye shadow darkening as the precious seconds passed. If maybe they could hang out in a space he feels most comfortable in, if he could remain on his bed and have them come to him just once or twice. It doesn’t feel... real. But it feels nice to imagine, to daydream the idea of sharing ideas in his room, of Patton chatting while eating cookies. Or Roman or Remy on his bed and the horrors of his mind not driving any of them away. 

A throat being cleared drags his attention back to Logan who is still looking thoughtful, mind turning over the suggestion. 

“It is entirely possible but without testing it there is no way to be certain. I could return with you to your room for a while if you desire?”

“No, no... thanks Logan.” As much as Virgil loves the idea and as much as he trusts Logan’s thought process, he isn’t ready to risk their mental well being on something that could turn out to be wrong. Not when they are all still hurting from the video. He might try soon though, probably with Logan first. If he can be brave enough to do so. The other side takes the no without complaint, giving a short nod. He turns to go before looking back towards him, a strange, uncomfortable light in his eyes. 

“I am going to suggest a games night in the near future, if you would be agreeable to it? We have not had one for quite a while and I feel that group moral has been low. While I doubt a night of cards and board games will restore the balance we once had, it might go some way towards it.”

It has been a long time since they spent any time together that wasn’t food or working. A long time since they had just been together and idly, Virgil wonders if that is the cause of the strange itching under his skin, a craving begging to be answered - if only he knew what the craving had been for. Maybe this will solve that restlessness, will give him some measure of peace. 

“That sounds good L.” 

“Indeed,” Logan replied, blinking a couple of times and Virgil cannot tell if his reaction is because of the new nickname or the thought of having to actually arrange a family night. He lifted a hand to adjust the knot of his tie yet again, some kind of faint alarm bell going off in Virgil’s head at the sight of it, trying to tug him back to panic. This is more than just Logan’s usual nerves. It is more even than him feeling unsettled by the recent events. This is... this is something that is setting all his tired anxieties and worries back to awareness, alert for new danger.

“When we next play...” Logan trails off, Virgil’s mind instantly leaping to fill in the end of the sentence, wondering again what he could have done to anger Logic, if this is finally it and he will be sent away. Hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into his palms and no doubt leaving little crescent moon marks there. Logan’s eyes lower to look at his hands, sympathy visible in his gaze and - okay, it is a step up from pity, but it still isn’t an expression that Virgil has ever wanted to see directed at him. Because it is only a fraction better than pity. Logan lifts his head back to meet his gaze, speaking once more, each word measured and precise, each one clearly carefully picked for its purpose.

“It is perfectly alright for neither Roman nor myself to win every game Virgil. Should you have the opportunity to win, I suggest you take it. I, for one, am curious to see your mind at work. And now, I shall leave you, you must be tired after the video. Until next time, Virgil.” 

With that, Logan nodded in farewell, turning on his heel and heading into his room. Virgil stared after him, mouth open. He had known that Logan had noticed of course, or he had suspected it at least that Virgil had thrown the game of _Clue_ on purpose. That was only to be expected because Logan was by far the smartest of them all.

But for him to remember it? To still remember it even after all the more important things that had happened? For him to have thought about it long enough to decide to say something to Virgil about it?

Well, Virgil has no idea what to make of it all.

\--

The knock had Virgil looking up, his headphones crooked on his head and he had lacked the energy to put them back on properly after his encounter with Logan. He had returned to his own room, flopping down on his bed and scrolling through tumblr in a bid to relax. 

None of Virgil’s attention had actually been on the posts he was flicking through. His mind cannot help but loop the conversation over and over again, trying to find some flaw, something he can use to pull it apart and to dismiss his concern as anything other than genuine. 

It had been impossible to find that lose thread, despite all his searching, impossible to read something else in those words beyond the idea that Logan wouldn’t mind if Virgil actually tried to win. He didn’t even bother insulting Virgil’s intelligence by claiming to speak on Roman’s behalf but even without that, Virgil found himself wondering if the regal looking side would be upset or if he would be okay with it. Maybe... Virgil chews on his bottom lip, thought and counter thought spinning around in his mind, an endless loop that chased each other. 

The knock sounds again, Virgil blinking a couple of times and wondering just how long he had been staring at his door like a moron. 

“Come in,” he calls, forcing himself to stand, pushing his headphones down around his neck. Virgil isn’t really sure who he expects - but it certainly isn’t Roman, shuffling in with both hands behind his back. He uses his elbow to nudge the door close behind him, moving forward until he is almost directly in front of him.

“Virgil? I have something for you. Well, I came up with the idea and the design but Logan helped with some of the more technical aspects because he wanted to help as well and I said it could be from both of us then, and just take it already.”

Roman practically shoves a small, oval shaped item into his hand as he spoke, the regal side shifting from foot to foot as he does. All Virgil can do in turn is stare at him like the complete moron that he is, not even looking at whatever gift he had been given. Roman seems to take the silence as disapproval, because he starts to speak again, words spilling out rapidly. 

“I know you weren’t being serious but I couldn’t help but think about what you said and well, it was eating away at me so I had to do something. Do you like it?” Even if he wasn’t Anxiety, if he wasn’t tuned to those emotions he is sure he would be able to pick up all the nerves in Roman’s voice and was this why he had run off straight after the video? This isn’t anxiety born out of his room, there is no eyeshadow under Roman’s eyes - at least not yet. This is all because of... because of a gift he wanted to give Virgil. He had wanted to make... whatever this is, eyes finally dropping to look at it. 

Virgil examines the object in his hand carefully. It is a pocket watch, slightly scuffed around the edges as though it has been dropped once or twice already. 

He likes it better by having these tiny marks on it. It isn’t perfect, it has seen some love, attention, it has been through the wars. He doesn’t need to worry about ‘ruining’ its pristine cover because it is already its own thing and briefly he feels a wave of affection surge through him at the thought that Roman must have done that on purpose, in order to try and remove just that worry. 

Thumb brushes over the cover, examining the image. There is a rabbit engraved there, standing on its hind legs, staring at a pocket watch of its own. For a moment Virgil thinks it is Mrs Fluffybottom until he realises it is wearing the wrong clothes - it is the white rabbit isn’t it. Holding a watch that Virgil is almost certain has a design on it of a rabbit holding a watch. If he squinted, he was fairly sure that that rabbit's watch had a rabbit on it, holding a watch and so on and so on. A lot of effort had gone into this, from the design to the casual damage. Roman has put a lot of effort into this, all for Virgil for some reason.

It makes him smile slightly as he presses down the small button at the top, watching as it flicks open to reveal an ornate face, half open so that he can see part of the inner workings, all the visible delicate golden cogs snug and in their correct places.

The hands are set to nineteen minutes past twelve, but they are silent, still. The clockwork mechanism doesn’t seem to actually do anything, Virgil lifting the watch to his ear with a faint frown, and now that he is listening, he can't make out any steady tick tock of time passing by.

“It... doesn’t work?” The words came out as more of a question than anything else, confused by this gift and he wants to thank Roman for it but at the same time he needs to be honest. He needs to mean what he says and Virgil knows that Roman would be able to tell. Plus, he doesn’t want to lie to him anyway. Roman nodded, expression serious, eyes fixed on the watch still in his hands. 

“Logan carefully removed one of the cogs from the middle of the mechanism. I wanted you to have something that would remind you,” he tells him simply as though that answer explained everything. Right now, he would take an answer that explains anything and Virgil wishes he understood what it was that Roman was trying so intently to tell him. He means well, Virgil is sure that he means well but that doesn't tell him what is going on. Or completely silence the little whisper in his mind that tells him this is a joke, a trick, a cruel prank of some kind.

“Remind me... of what?” 

There is a fond smile on Roman’s face that lets him know that he doesn't mind the question, the other side taking a small, half step closer, crowding into Virgil's personal space. Normally, he would have complained about that, but he can’t really find it in himself to moan, not when Roman is looking at him like that, as though he is something good, as if this moment is something special to him. This matters to Roman for some reason and Virgil would deal with a lot more than having him stand closer than normal if it means that Roman gets whatever it is that he wants.

“That it _is_ too late,” Roman whispers, hand lifting to lightly clasp Virgil’s wrist, drawing the hand still clutching the pocket watch higher until it is almost level with his heart. Warm brown eyes never leave Virgil's own, looking into them as though there is something interesting to be found there. They have the same face, the same eyes and yet there is a million subtle differences between them. Roman’s eyes are like liquid chocolate, warm, inviting, the sort of temptation that lured Gloop to his doom in Wonka’s factory. 

His own are flat, dull. The colour of dirt and Virgil is suddenly afraid if Roman looks too hard he might see all the worms and decaying thoughts that lurk behind them, that he might see all the rotten flaws that make up his soul. 

Virgil doesn’t know what Roman is looking for, but whatever it is, he seems to find it because the Prince’s smile grows, head tilting just a fraction closer, voice still little more than a whisper so that Virgil has to lean in as well in order to catch every word. 

“You can’t be an outcast again, you can’t leave us because we all love you. You are our friend, our family, maybe more if you want and it is too late to go back into the cold, we would never abandon you like that. I know you have... moments when you doubt that, I know it is who you are. All I would ask, would beg of you, is when you do doubt, take a look at this watch. Take a look and remember you are a part of us all.”

Virgil is well aware that his mouth has dropped open in shock and surprise as he stares at him and yet he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed by his reaction. It is hard to feel anything negative when Roman is saying something like this to him, when he has gone to all this effort to make him a present like this in the first place. Roman had thought about his joke and rather than grow angry or make it worse by making jokes of his own, he had actually thought about it. Thought long and hard about it, if this gift is any indication and come up with something that would help, would prove he cared without being so showy. Roman has even made sure to give it to him in private so nobody is watching and Virgil doesn’t need to worry about being the centre of attention.

“I... I, uh, I will,” Virgil promises at last, voice soft and slightly awed. Roman’s smile is still warm, almost too pleased with himself as he takes a step back, breaking the physical contact and leaving Virgil cold, far too cold, his hand freezing where Roman’s fingers had touched. 

“Excellent! Excellent... in which case... I shall let you get back to your PG-13 music. I shall see you at dinner?” The last line comes out as more a question than anything else, Virgil simply nodding dumbly, his mind struggling to work out what had just happened, thoughts clawing at smooth walls without any handholds or way to climb out. He doesn’t understand what has just happened, or what Roman wants. 

For a ridiculous moment, Virgil is struck by the urge to ask Roman to stay. To test Logan’s theory and see if another side can safely stay in his room for longer than a few minutes without the risk of eyeshadow, without his own negative influence corrupting them. He wants to ask Roman to sit with him, to talk to him about anything and everything, to just hang out with him. To maybe go over some recent events, and get his views on the things that he needs to talk to Thomas about. Maybe there are some things he could deal with, without stressing his host out. If he talks to Roman instead. Maybe they could have fun.

He lets him walk out of his room without another word instead. 

Door swings shut behind him, Virgil absently lifting a hand to mentally lock it, wanting to make sure he has no interruptions as he slowly slumps down on the ground, not even bothering to move back to his bed. Walking even those few steps feels like far too much effort right now and everything he is, is focused on this one moment alone. 

Virgil stares down at the slightly dented pocket watch still within his hand as if seeing it for the first time. A gift. Roman had gotten him a gift and his mind still feels stuck at that, trying to tick forward only to click back onto that thought and that thought alone. He breathes out, drawing his knees up against his chest, fingers tightening around the watch as he does, irrationally afraid that he might somehow lose or damage it with such a motion. 

He feels... well, Virgil isn’t completely sure what he feels. Mind loops yet again, helpfully reminding him of what had just transpired - as though he could ever forget. Roman gave him a present. Roman! Him! It is all somewhat bewildering. It is something new, a change, and no doubt it is his instinctive dislike of change that has him feeling so nervous, so jittery and out of sorts. His heart is pounding as though has just run a mile or escaped from a panic attack and yet despite the undeniable nerves, Virgil doesn’t actually feel _bad_ or _upset_. He is used to those feelings, as awful as they are, he knows what to do with those feelings.

It would be easier if he knew what he felt but whatever this feeling is, it is something completely new and utterly terrifying. Virgil doesn’t know what to do, let alone what to think. 

Words were soft directed at the air in his room rather than anything in particular;

“What the hell?”


	30. Everything is never as it seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It is all suddenly too much. Too much confusion, too much stress, too much pain from his heart and thoughts he can’t put into any coherent sentences. Too much everything pressing down on him, every look and unspoken word another pebble in the avalanche of misery that had swept him away and was now threatening to bury him alive.”_
> 
> _a.k.a._
> 
> _Moments of Revelation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooah boy. That newests video sure was something wasn’t it! Don’t worry, no spoilers here, I know plenty of people haven’t had the chance to see it yet but just... wow. That was a thing and a half. 
> 
> And then back to this. And back to _this_ chapter, which I have been waiting for so long to reach. If Virgil ‘ducking out’ was the end of act one of this story, then this chapter would be the end of act two. Which means we are in for a ride. 
> 
> You might want to take a couple of moments for this, it's going to - hopefully - get intense. Angst ahead. And some other stuff too. I’ve been teasing the events of this chapter for so long now, it's a relief to finally be able to have it become real. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Fireflies_ by **Owl City**. Lyrics used within this chapter are again from _Dead Girl Walking_ from the **Heathers** musical. Just like in a previous chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my soul, such as it is. I just wanna say... I’m sorry guys. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Everything is never as it seems

** **

That strange feeling doesn’t go away as the days pass. It feels as though there are birds inside of him, all flapping their wings and trying to fly away. Some seem to be physically trying to peck their way out of his body, keeping him awake long into the night. The feeling is different from his usual anxiety, it isn’t guilt or stress or worry... Virgil can’t really work out what it is and that just makes him feel even more on edge than before. He is restless, unable to settle on any one thing. Nothing can hold his attention, nothing can relax him. Any book picked up is discarded after mere minutes, as is any game, puzzle or toy. Even his music - normally the only thing that can ground him in moments of greater distress - fails to grant him relief.

It is Roman’s fault he has decided. Virgil doesn’t know exactly how it is the creative sides fault but he has no doubt that this is somehow all that annoying royal’s fault. 

With his stupid presents and his stupid smile and his stupid apparent caring about Virgil and his mental health. 

Somehow, he has gotten into Virgil’s mind, he has invaded his thoughts and no matter where he turns, his thoughts tend to fall back into the trap of thinking about the creative, fanciful side. As if he is some kind of infection that has wrapped itself around his whole nervous system and is gradually squeezing the life out of him. 

Virgil doesn’t know how to make it all stop but he really wishes the thoughts would go away because he wants to get some sleep sometime this year. Even late at night, he can’t get away from his pounding heart, from the restless thoughts that race through his mind, half remembered dreams chasing him into awareness on the rare moments he manages to slip into a light sleep. 

Patton has started giving him funny looks over the breakfast table, a worried question hovering unspoken in the air around them. He knows too that Patton has to be beating himself up over it, convinced that Virgil is holding back from telling him whatever is bothering him because he doesn’t want to burden the moral side when he is still recovering from the heartache of the breakup. Which is partly true of course, the last thing he wants to do is add more stress to Patton and over something so petty as well.

But really, what can Virgil say? 

That he cannot sleep because of Roman... and something? That annoying elusive something that has been chasing him day and night ever since the events of the latest Sanders Sides videos. That it is driving him mad and he doesn’t even know what is happening only that he needs it to stop or at the very least he needs to understand - it is the lack of knowing that hurts him the most, because where there is a lack of understanding, it is filled with all the possibilities. Virgil might not be the creative side, and he might not be able to make anything worth a damn, but when it comes to terrible things... well, he has a talent there.

A talent for always thinking the worst and always making that worst somehow even more dramatic and terrible. Those sorts of thoughts fill his waking moments, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. 

He plays with the pocket watch more and more as the days pass. Fingers brush over the small indentations that make up the image on the front cover, tracing the lines until he knows every curve off by heart. It soothes him a fraction, being able to draw the White Rabbit with his fingers, gives him just a momentary breath of peace before that strange skip of his heart starts again and he is left as confused and as torn up as before, and nothing makes sense anymore. 

Being near Roman only makes the palpitations more pronounced, which in turn only convinces him more that Roman is somehow behind all of this. That he has done something to him, something sneaky and it is affecting him in this strange way. Maybe it is some horrible prank after all, maybe the pocket watch is a trap instead of a trick and Roman doesn’t actually like him. That thought hurts more than he can almost bare, Virgil instantly pushing it as far away from him as he can. He doesn’t stop carrying the pocket watch everywhere he goes or touching it every couple of minutes to reassure himself it is still there because even if it is a trick, it was still a gift and as weak and as pathetic as that might make him, he wants it. He wants Roman to have given him something out of the goodness of his heart.

It is still impossible to say no to him, and Virgil is a little afraid that Roman has worked that out by now, that he is using it to his advantage because when he had woken up this morning it had been with the plan to avoid everyone and try and work out once and for all what was happening to him.

So how come he has ended up back in the Imagination, sat on his familiar giant bean bag, watching Roman as he dances and spins across the stage? Virgil isn’t even sure what play he is putting on because he keeps getting distracted from the words to instead thinking about the way Roman is moving or the way in which the light catches his cheek bones just so. It should set him further on edge, should push him closer towards snapping but there is something about the graceful way in which Roman has lost himself in his role that settles that restless fire which flickers and burns so hungrily under his skin. 

For a little while, Virgil even feels a sense of peace, the first real calmness he has felt since this whole ness began. He almost feels normal, feels back to himself and the tension in his shoulder drop away slightly as the scenes go on. It feels good to simply be a member of the audience, to let things play out around him without having to be an active participant and risk saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining everything. He doesn’t need to stress about protecting people or stopping anything terrible happening because this is all pretend and it is just Roman creating a world that will only last for as long as the play, before vanishing without any further consequences.

For these moments, Virgil can almost forget the worry, the stress. He can ignore the lingering tensions and pain from Thomas’ past relationship. He can forget the way his stomach churns and lurches unpleasantly at the mere thought of Roman because somehow the acid reflex isn’t present when the creative side is acting in front of him. For these moments, he feels the best he has felt in a very long time. 

Right up until he catches Roman looking at him and opening his mouth as though to ask a question before snapping it shut and looking away again. Just as he has almost every time he invites Virgil here and it isn’t as though Virgil just shows up. Roman always asks him, always insists that he wants him here and yet it is never long before he is sneaking glances Virgil’s way, when he is clearly doubting his decision to invite him but doesn’t know how to rescind the invitation gracefully. Because Roman wouldn’t want to be cruel to him, he wouldn’t want to end the friendship completely, just get a little break from the oppressive storm cloud that is Virgil.

Honestly, if that was what he was thinking, he couldn’t blame him. Given the chance, Virgil would want to get away from himself too.

It is all suddenly too much. Too much confusion, too much stress, too much pain from his heart and thoughts he can’t put into any coherent sentences. Too much everything pressing down on him, every look and unspoken word another pebble in the avalanche of misery that had swept him away and was now threatening to bury him alive. It is all too much. 

“Okay, stop it!” Virgil snapped, his breathing becoming ragged as he fights to control his breathing and Virgil isn’t going to lose it over something as small as this. Not when he has managed to hold himself together for so long up until this point. He can keep it together for a little longer. Virgil scrambles to his feet, the restless energy rushing greedily back through his body, eager to reclaim the tiny fragments of peace that Virgil had managed to find.

Suddenly, this grassy area no longer feels like a beacon of safety, but instead a cage that wants to spring up around him and wrap its bonds tight against his skin, cutting deep into every thought and hope he has ever had. 

Roman stops mid word, a confused look on his face before he is leaving the stage and approaching Virgil, one hand lifting to run it casually through his hair.

“What... what are you talking about?” His forced casualness is not one of his finest acting roles and Virgil feels his anger grow, a vicious little flame which gives him the courage to press on, to finally spill all the thoughts about the plays that had plagued him for so long. 

“Why do you keep _looking_ at me! You’ve been doing it ever since you started inviting me here, if you changed your mind you can just tell me, because knowing you don’t want me here for real is so much better than all the possibilities my mind keeps creating so please, will you just tell me why you keep looking at me?” 

“No!” Roman looks distraught at the mere idea that he might not want him here and that doesn’t help Virgil's mood in the slightest. He was worried about Roman not wanting him here and just not being able to find the words to say it but now he realises that isn’t the worst outcome to this conversation. No, the worst outcome is if he turns out to be overthinking things yet again and by his rudeness, he manages to ruin something that wasn’t even broken. 

“No, please, it’s nothing like that.” 

Virgil shrugs, looking away and wishing he had never brought it up. Wishing he had just kept his mouth shut and just ignored it as he tried his best to ignore everything in his life but it was all too much. The pain of what those looks could be warred with the simple and pathetic need for Roman to like him. When, exactly, it became so important for Roman to like him, Virgil isn’t really sure but he knows that the need is engrained deep within him, and it cannot be ignored. As much as he wishes he could. 

He wraps his arms around his chest as though he could protect his heart from the questions, eyes fixed firmly on the grass at their feet. There is still dew on the blades, tiny specks of dampness that brush against Roman’s boots. Not for the first time, Virgil finds himself marvelling at the attention to detail that the creative side brings to everything. It really feels as though they are standing in a field. 

And he is screwing everything up - just as he always does. Teeth catch against his bottom lip, Virgil considering just walking away from this conversation and pretending it never happened. He needs to know the truth though, he can’t ignore those looks. He blames Roman for his new found courage and curiosity too. Denial is no longer enough for him. 

“What then?”

“It’s just... I wanted to ask you... I wanted to ask you to sing with me.” Roman admits at last. “I’ve been trying to find the right words to ask so you will duet with me.” 

“You’re joking,” Virgil said flatly, firmly pushing down that sudden burst of hope that tries to escape from him at the idea that Roman actively wants to do _anything_ with him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Roman’s hands dancing in the air between them, darting towards him and then back again, unsure of where to hover. They move with a strange sort of panicked grace that Virgil would give almost anything to possess himself. When he is full of nerves as Roman’s hands betray him to be, it is all he can do to keep upright. Not dance so beguilingly and make him want to reach out to grasp a hand, to offer his own comfort, as cold and as limited as it might be. 

“I would do no such thing! Not with such a serious topic as this! You have talent Virgil, you have a wonderful voice, lower than mine and we compliment each other so well. I would be honoured to sing with you,” Roman insisted, voice as passionate and intent as every flick and rise of his his hands. Despite his own paranoia, he own self doubt and self loathing, Virgil finds that he almost wants to believe those words and everything they promise. 

Almost. He still needs to understand it a little more, still needs just one more proof that this isn’t some game Roman is playing, that the rug isn’t going to be pulled out from under him the moment he starts to trust it. His worst thoughts are coming into play once again, denying him peace no matter how badly he tries to convince himself that Roman wouldn’t do that to him.

“But... why? I’m... me.” Virgil asks at last, aware of how lame the words were. How it was barely a question at all but rather just a plaintive plea for help, for understanding.

Roman just smiles, that soft, half smile that does all sorts of funny things to Virgil’s insides that he is really not ready to think about at the moment. He reaches out once more, this time touching, one hand cupping Virgil’s cheek and Virgil knows he should pull away, should make him stop this connection because it is dangerous because it makes his heart hope things it could never have, things that he is still working out he even wants. He wants _this_.

He can’t move though. He can barely breathe, can do nothing but stare at Roman, eyes blown wide as they just stand there, the other so close that Virgil can make out every tiny little detail on his costume, can see the way his chest rising and falls with every breath. If he had the courage to look higher than Roman’s collarbone, he has no doubt that he would be able to make out every little fleck of colour within his eyes, every sparkle and shift of light and dark. He would be able to stare deeply into eyes but it would mean Roman would be able to stare just as deeply back and he doesn’t want that. 

Softly, Roman begins to sing, the world dropping away from them. Virgil could have sworn that it physically got darker, the rest of reality fading so that it was only the two of them standing in a void, as if they were the only things that mattered to Roman right now and so the only things in the Imagination, the only things he is capable of holding onto. 

Sparks of light danced around them, reds and purples flashing in and out of existence and somewhere along the way, Virgil’s hands rise, resting lightly against Roman’s chest, neither pulling him closer or pushing him away. He feels incapable of either because that would mean a choice, would mean a door closing as he steps through the other one, doors that he is only just beginning to see although they are growing crisper with every passing seconds.

And through it all, Roman sings. 

_“And you know, you know, you know_

_It’s ‘cause you’re beautiful_

_You say you’re numb inside_

_But I can’t agree_

_So the world’s unfair_

_Keep it locked out there_

_In here it’s beautiful_

_Let’s make this beautiful.”_

Virgil stares at him, eyes still wide, brain scrambling desperately to keep up with what is happening. Not even he can put this into any kind of negative spin, not even he can think of any other reason as to why Roman might have chosen this song over any other to sing to him. It was the song they had sung before, the one time Virgil had joined in with him. 

He hadn’t been at his best - indeed, he had been at his worse - and yet there had been something about that moment which had resonated with Roman, something that had captured him to such a degree that he had chosen the softest, sweetest moment of the song to sing. He is saying something which his choice, he is offering Virgil a way further into his world if he wants it. And how Virgil wants it, that desire surging and battling against the tsunami of his fears and regrets. 

Breath is stuttering, catching in his throat but strangely he doesn’t feel on the cusp of a panic attack. There was a barrier between himself and that fear, an invisible curtain that he could almost chose to lift or not. He is a step removed from it and although there is no way to know how long such a feeling will last, he doesn’t want to end it early. Not when he is nearly floating, eyes fixed on his own hands resting against Roman’s chest, on the way the white, red and gold of his outfit rises and falls with every heaving breath. The Creative side had poured his heart and soul into his singing, had infused it with so much meaning.

Roman is like a Siren of old, utterly captivating, mesmerising. Ensnaring him with song and pulling him willingly to his doom. Virgil has long ago realised he is utterly weak for all the light sides, that he would do anything they asked him, but this... this is different somehow. This is something more, this is intense and Virgil feels a little lightheaded from it all. 

Finally, he looks a little higher, meeting Roman’s gaze head on, meeting eyes that are just as wide as his own. They are even more beautiful that he remembered, something Virgil hadn’t realised was possible. There were dark and deep, as mysterious and as enchanting as the rest of Roman. It felt as though he could stare into them for the rest of the night - the rest of his life? - and still find new subtleties to them, new little sparks and flares of colour as they caught the changing light. 

That strange feeling is back except it is multiplied by what feels like a thousand now and he is drowning in Roman’s warm brown eyes. Mouth drops open a little, ready to speak although he doesn’t know what he plans to say before it closes again, a new thought striking him with all the force of lightning. 

He... he... oh god. He has _feelings_. What did he ever do to deserve feelings?

Now that he realises, Virgil doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before, didn’t put the pieces together. How could he have failed to notice the way his heart raced around Roman, the way he felt dizzy at a smile and kind word? Logan would have been disappointed in him not putting the pieces together in time. 

Maybe he just never expected to fall victim to such an affliction himself. 

He is in love - or at least in the start of love. With someone who is never going to love him back, who until recently hated him and wouldn’t have minded if he had died back then. With someone who he had given more than enough reason to make him hate him because he had hurt Roman’s beloved, hurt Thomas. Virgil hates himself for doing that but he knows it is nothing compared to how much Roman must have hated him over the years. They might be closer now, but he can’t even start to believe that the other side would ever see him as more than a friend. Even friend is too far of a reach at times and really until this horrible moment, Virgil would have settled for not enemy. For anything really. 

Now he knows that is never going to be enough for his traitorous heart, and it doesn’t seem to care that it has set itself up for nothing but pain and endless longing. It doesn’t care that the love it is feeling will never be returned. 

Roman blinks, that split second breaking the connection between them and Virgil looks down, unable to hold the gaze any longer. He is scared of what might happen if he carries on staring, scared of the feelings that are running wild through his mind and soul. He might even do something as insane as admit these thoughts that are burning through his brain, say them out loud and no - no. He can’t; he won’t. 

Roman must never know how he feels. 

Mood shifts from that strange eerie calm to panic in a heartbeat, his adrenaline kicking in as his fears start screaming that he needs to get out of this situation. What if the truth is written all over his face and Roman works it out? Roman is a good person and he would try and let Virgil down gently because of the friendship they now have. He will apologise and explain that there is just no way that someone like him could ever feel those kind of feelings for someone like Virgil and he can’t pretend otherwise. He would be so earnest, so worried about ruining the family when Virgil knows that it is his own feelings which would do just that. 

They would change everything if Roman knew, the other side wouldn’t be able to help acting different around him, no matter what he might say at the time. And what he already has would wither and die. He can see it all so clearly and it shakes him to the core. 

Away, away, away, he needs to get away from where, away from these thoughts as if he could somehow leave them behind. 

“I have... I have to go,” Virgil stammers, hands curling into the fabric and allowing himself just this one second of comfort, of feeling Roman’s heat under his touch, of knowing that he is right here, strong, reassuring, a brave knight that would protect him from everything he could. Roman can’t protect him from his own mind. It is still a nice idea, that he could be safe, that he could be... loved. 

But this is wrong of him too. Selfish and sick, to take from Roman without his permission and while he is pretty sure Roman would hug him again if he asks, or at least let him rest here, it is still wrong when Roman doesn’t really understand why Virgil is asking. When he doesn’t really understand what Virgil is taking. Now that Virgil knows his own mind, he can see just how unfair he has been recently. All the moments he has shared with Roman, all the occasional touches he has gained from Roman, it all feels as though he has done it with an ulterior motive. 

Virgil stumbles backwards, finally cutting the contact between them. He instantly feels cold but that is all he deserves, to feel the chill of nothingness. Arm lifts as he turns, swiping rather uselessly at his eyes as though he could somehow stem the tears that are now flowing freely from them. 

Too late, he realises that Roman will have seen the tears, that he might get the wrong idea from them and think it is something he has done. Virgil can’t handle dealing with that right now, he can’t spare the energy needed to work out some excuse as to why he is crying so that Roman knows it isn’t his fault but at the same time so he doesn't work out the truth. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get somewhere where he can breathe, where he can scream and let everything that is hurting in his soul out.

“Wait! Virgil!” Roman’s voice takes on a slightly panicked edge, a distant part of him noting the reaction with surprise. The creative should really know better by now, should know him better by now. Virgil is a coward, he always has been. There is no way he can stay, not unless Roman directly asks it in such a way that he has either the choice of doing what Roman asks or saying no; and he knows he won’t say no.

The easy and cowardly solution is simply not to give him that chance, Virgil sinking out as he runs, flinging himself out of that corner of the imagination. Roman’s voice is still ringing in his ears, calling after him and he is selfishly glad that he can’t make out the words, his ears popping as though his head has been underwater all this time and is now rapidly coming towards the surface. Virgil can’t refuse him if he can’t hear the question or begging in the first place. 

Is there no end to how selfish he is? 

Virgil doesn’t know how long he runs. Or how far. He spins through the various realms of Thomas’ mind, ducking and weaving with no thought beyond getting away from Roman, from that moment in time, that realisation. He would run away from his own heart if he could, would run until his lung gave out and his body collapsed under itself if that would have somehow removed these feelings from him. 

The sound of Roman’s voice calling after him has long since faded away into silence, but he doesn’t stop in his frantic run, barely aware of where he is or where he is going. He needs a plan, some part of him knows that he needs to make a plan, because running away for the rest of his life while tempting, is not a long term solution. He has to come up with some kind of excuse and then some kind of system to survive being around Roman and keeping his secret which means that Virgil needs to stop. And breathe. Somehow.

For a moment he considers going to Remy, blurting out the truth of his horrible realisation and letting his friend make him feel better. He trusts Remy enough to know that while he may tease him for this, he would never ever tell Roman the truth. He would protect Virgil from his own bad thoughts and decisions, would hide him. It is tempting. So very tempting. 

It is also too risky. If Roman is still looking for him, he will undoubtedly check Remy’s room and Virgil doesn’t want to put his friend into that position, where he either lies or forces Roman to leave. He won’t be _that_ selfish. He cares for Remy too much to put all of his terrible thoughts on his friend’s shoulders. 

Virgil is so focused on making sure that he is avoiding Roman that he completely fails to avoid Patton, bumping into him and sending them both spinning. The wall he lands against is cool and solid, Virgil wanting to cry at the support it has so unknowingly given him. He allows himself a single second to just breathe before pushing off again, intending to carry on running and no, he is somehow back in the main house of the mind and if there is anywhere that Roman might go, it will be the main house and Virgil isn’t ready to face him yet.

“Woah, slow down Kiddo,” Patton’s hands are on his shoulders and they feel like burning weights. When did Patton move? Why hasn’t he moved? He needs to move and yet Patton is pinning him so easily in place as if he had no form to him, no substance that allows to him to move on his own. 

Virgil looks up, his chest still heaving from the mad dash he has subjected himself to. Patton’s face is wavering in front of him, blurred by the tears that are flowing freely from his eyes. He must look a mess right now but Virgil doesn’t have any energy left to care. Dully, he knows that Patton will question him about the tears on his face, that he will want to know what is wrong.

Because he cares - or because he is nosy. In Virgil’s current state of mind he cannot tell the difference between the two, he cannot assign Patton more noble traits when it is all he can do to stop himself just screaming mindlessly in his face.

“What’s wrong Kiddo? You can talk to your pop if anything is bothering you. You know your old dad is always here for you.” Patton’s voice is soft, caring and normally it is the sort that makes Virgil want to just fall forward into it. There is comfort here, the easy, reassuring comfort that he craves but despite it all Virgil can only focus on one word and one word alone, the meaning of it leeching all warmth away and leaving cold fire behind.

Dad. Patton called himself... _dad_. As if he had always been his dad. As if he had never let him down, never hurt him. Virgil feels the hurt of that wound bubbling up in him, fresh and rank. He pulls himself away from the blistering touch, the heat that is not warm and safe but burns down to the bone, his shoulders hunching up as though to physically protect himself from Patton. From... dad. 

It is all too much. For the second time today, it is all... too... _much_.

“Stop it! Stop calling yourself that. You’re not my dad! You weren’t when we were kids, when I _needed_ you to be my dad, when I needed your support. You didn’t help me then and I don’t want your help now!” 

For an awful moment there is near silence, broken only by Virgil’s ragged breathing. He has gone and done it now. He has broken the unspoken rule that they never talk about it, never to shatter the happy facade they have all worked so hard to build up over the foundations of hurt and misery. 

Part of him wants to apologise, wants to snatch those words back out of the air, to somehow unsay them and pretend that this moment hasn’t happened. He would like to pretend that most of this day hasn’t happened, that he could somehow wipe it from everyone’s memories including his own. But then he wouldn’t know how he feels towards Roman, he might have gone on taking and taking. Then he would still be carrying the pain of Patton’s words around in his heart and as shameful as it is, he feels almost better because at least he said it. 

At least Patton will know that it hurts him, even if Virgil also knows he should have gotten over it by now. And of course Patton will tell him that he should have gotten over it, it was one conversation, so many years ago now, what did it matter after everything else they have all done to each other? 

It matters. It has always mattered. 

“Virgill... what are you talking about?” Patton’s head cocks to the side as he speaks, the moral side looking so confused, wide eyed and innocent. 

Somehow, that hurts even more than any anger might have done. Patton isn’t cruel by nature, and he knows he wouldn’t lie - he hopes he wouldn’t lie, recent events have proven that the moral side is more than capable of denial and lies, just as the rest of them. Regardless, he doesn’t think that Patton would be so mean and pretend that it never happened, just to mess with him. 

Which means that he honestly doesn’t remember the day he broke Virgil’s heart. It was that unimportant to him. For Virgil, that day had changed his life, had shattered his world view and made him see everything differently but to Patton... it had just another day. Another mundane, boring day that had passed into dim memory with nothing to make it stand out from any other quiet day that they had had. 

The smart thing to do would be just to end the conversation right now. To walk away and lick his wounded pride, to try and recover before attempting to patch up the friendships he has managed to damage. Two in one day, that has to be close to a record even for him. Maybe Virgil can go find Logan or Remy, can stomp in and ruin his relationship with them. For the whole gang he could even go after Thomas because why stop at two when he can make everyone as miserable as he is feeling right now? 

So yes, the smart thing would be a retreat. 

Virgil has never really done the smart thing. It seems wrong to start now. He wants Patton to remember. He wants to see the crestfallen expression on the other sides face as he realises what he did. Patton is older now, wiser. He can look back on actions they took as children and realise, just as Virgil did, that some of it was wrong. Virgil can’t be the only one who looks back and regrets. 

He refuses to be the only one who realises mistakes had been made when they were kids. He refuses to be the only one paying for those mistakes no matter how much he has tried to make up for them over the years. 

It is spiteful, cruel, but a small hurting part of him wants Patton to hurt as well. He has nursed this wound for so many years now, has carried it round with him and the thought that Patton might not even know what he has done is too much for Virgil to handle. He is committed to this course now. The avalanche from before is still falling, sweeping everything up in its path. It is far too late for the pebbles to vote on which way they want it to go. All Virgil can do is let the wave of emotions sweep him along as it wants and hope not to be utterly dashed onto the rocks below. 

Expression hardens, Virgil deliberately hiding away all good feelings, anything soft and true that can be used against him. If he is as hard as stone then perhaps the inevitable fall won’t hurt as much. He forces himself to be cold, harsh, voice as vicious as he can get it, all to protect himself. 

“Don’t play dumb with me Patton. I’m talking about when we were seven. When we fought. When you sent me to my room and told me you had to look after the other two over me. When I... when I disappointed you.” 

“Kidd- Virgil... I... I never said that to you,” Patton tells him, tone usually serious and no this is wrong, this is all wrong. Patton isn’t supposed to keep denying it. He is meant to remember, he is meant to be sad, he is meant to be _sorry_ because then he could apologise and Virgil could try and accept it. Then he could try and heal from it, rather than letting the barbs of each word from that small talk cut into his soul everytime Patton acts like his dad. 

“I would never say that to you. You could never disappoint me Virgil, I swear.” 

“Don’t lie to me!” Virgil screams, hands curling up into tight fists. He can feel his shoulders shaking with suppressed energy, automatically taking a step back, away from Patton and away from the physical contact he tries to initiate once more. He can’t let himself be touched because then all this anger would seep away from him, then he would forget, he would forgive without Patton even asking for it. And that wouldn’t be healthy for either of them. 

Dimly, he is aware of the lights in the hallway flickering ominously, the shadows lengthening as they stand there, only a few feet apart but separated by something far more dangerous than distance. 

“Don’t... lie... to me...” He repeats the words slowly, softly, as though properly hearing them for the first time. Don’t lie. Patton would never lie. And Patton might have forgotten true, he might have lost that memory in the midst of all the others from those years, but he would never deny it unless he is sure that such a thing never happened. 

Unless he knows exactly what kind of dad he is and exactly what lines he wouldn’t cross.

Unless he could honestly look at Virgil and feel a myriad of emotions, none of which are somehow disappointment. 

Unless it had never been Patton he had met that day.

Unless that moment itself had been a _**lie**_. 

He wants to laugh at how stupid he is. At how obvious it was now that he actually takes a moment to look beyond his own hurt and he should have known better from the start. He should have known that Patton would be so much better than that. He should never have doubted the parental side, and while he knew that the wound had been too staggering, too much of a body blow to have been able to deflect it at the time, that doesn’t excuse all the time that has passed between then and now. He should have confronted him about it years ago. How could he have been so stupid, so cowardly, to have never brought it up before today? 

He wants to laugh and smile at Patton, to explain what is so funny and how after all these years, Virgil finally understands the punchline - himself. 

Virgil screams instead. A primal, despairing scream that rips through the mind, cutting through rooms as though walls were made of issue paper so that the whole house is alive with the sound of his pain, his shame and his all consuming anger. It can probably be heard all the way down to the subconscious and beyond, if he had cared to think about such things. 

The light above them shatters, a light dusting of glass that falls down all around them and Virgil knows he is out of control. He knows that the anxiety is rising up, that all the dark and disgusting elements that make up the less appealing parts of his personality trait are rushing through him, begging to be allowed more control, to be allowed to play with the worst of their powers. To be free.

He knows this and he _relishes_ it. 

In this moment, he is less than Virgil, but more than Anxiety. There is a strange type of control, in this bizarre loss of control, no matter how conflicting and impossible that might sound. He is not sure exactly what he is, this is new and different. This is something beyond what he has been before and in these moments it is almost as though there are two parts of him functioning at exactly the same time. The being of rage and pain that is nothing but the surge of emotions he feels and a figure in a box, detached from it all and watching himself have a breakdown and his trait take over.

Wait. 

He _has_ felt this before. He has been here before, almost watching himself, and that had been a day Roman had sung that same song as well. Just before the end, before he had... tried to end it at least. He had felt at once so out of control and yet so completely in control as to scare him. He had been consumed by the most intense emotions when he had finally allowed himself to feel them, all of them bad. 

Virgil isn’t going to duck out again. He doesn’t want to become that again but he can feel himself burning in the fire of these feelings. Different emotions to the emotional fallout that had led to his attempting to abandon Thomas, but they are still bad. Rage, malice, anger. Utter betrayal because as much as he knows they don’t always get on, Virgil would never have believed _him_ capable of doing this to him and maintaining the lie for decades. They had been friends, once upon a time. 

Clearly, he is a naive little idiot. 

Briefly, Virgil considers screaming again. And then again, and again. Scream until his throat was raw and bleeding, until he was choking in his own blood and letting his pain seep out of wounds that are only littering his own body. Briefly, he considers throwing himself on this grenade yet again.

Virgil is tired of turning his own pain internal, he is tired of hiding it away for the sake of others. Sanitising his feelings so that others aren’t upset by the fact that he is upset. He always takes the burden on his shoulders, protects them from everything, including any mistakes that they might have made. He is tired of it, so very tired of always being the one to take the blows. He is tired of never being allowed to show his feelings.

Around him, the shadows start to leech away from the walls, from the darkness cast by the lights. They even trail away from Patton, winding their way across floor and wall to gather at his feet, called by his cries of pain and misery. Virgil breathes in, feelings his presence stretch across the mind. That web of connections that he has always used to trace headaches is now turned against itself, Virgil mentally moving along it and calling on the shadows to come to him, pulling that darkness out of the mind and into himself. He can feel them running around his ankles, a few seeping up his legs as they start to swarm over him. Virgil can feel himself getting lost to them once more, but even that isn’t enough to shake him from his resolve, to change his mind. Instead, he calls them faster. 

“Hey Kiddo? Your uh... your makeup is getting a little dark there, how about you tell me what is bothering you and come on over to my room for a chat and a patented Pat cuddle on my bed? We can watch whatever you want, just... I just need you to step towards me okay?” Patton’s voice is steady - too steady to be real. He is containing his emotions even as Virgil lets his own run riot. 

Finally, Virgil looks back at Patton, fixing him with a cold, yet murderous stare. All this time he had been nursing a wound that hadn’t even been delivered by Patton. All. This. Time. 

Hand stretches out, fingers curled into a claw. Not towards Patton, not towards the light that spills out of rooms as doors open, more figures joining Patton and Virgil is too lost in the mists of his mind to be able to work out who it is exactly only that they aren’t his target. Which means he cannot afford to waste time or energy on them. He does not wish to turn the shadows of his mind upon them, and this control he has could be lost at any time. 

He reaches out towards the darkness instead, towards the shadows that scream and dance to his thoughts, calling the shadows towards him, making them spin around him. They create a whirlpool around him, black shadows that flicker and hiss in the hallway. The glass from the broken light has long since been swallowed up by the shadows, dissolving into more blackness, granting him more power. There is barely any light left in the hallway now, slashes of it cutting through the various tones of black where doors have opened and Virgil can feel his own shadows hungry, craving to try and pull the light to pieces, to turn the whole hallway into his own private playground.

He does not want to do that. 

Eyes flicker down past his arm - an arm that is no longer in a purple and black sleeve, all colour having faded away with the light, leaving only black behind - to stare at the gaping void at his feet, an inky blackness that is so much more intense than the dim darkness of the other shadows around him. It is a portal, an entrance to the parts of the mind where the light sides rarely ventured. Where he had grown up and yet not visited for years now. He is long overdue a visit, and long overdue a reckoning. 

It would frighten him, if he was in any other frame of mind, to know how easily he bent the shadows to his will, how effortlessly he has learnt such a terrifying power. It would reinforce that hidden fear that he really is nothing more than a Dark Side, a danger to those that he loves. It would remind him that he cannot he trusted, that he could turn on them at any moment but all he can think of right now is the wound he has received and the years that liar had spent fanning flames he had himself created. The agony he had let Virgil go through, all the while no doubt laughing behind his back. 

“Kiddo... _Virgil_... please don’t do this. We can talk about this, we can find some other way.” Patton’s words are little more than a distant buzz in his ears, and although he hears them, Virgil cannot focus on them properly, cannot let them interfere because then he would be weak again, then he would let him find another way and Virgil wants to do this his way.

His dark, dark way. 

Heart is pounding in his ears, his rage matching the tempo and each ragged breath only draws in more hurt, more confusion and rage. Gaze shifts from his arm to Patton for the briefest of seconds, watching as the other side’s expression falls, as he realises that Virgil isn’t going to listen. He opens his mouth again but Virgil is already looking away, back down at the void which calls to him. 

Virgil lets the portal take him, sinking down through the levels of the mind, his destination seared into his thoughts. His final words echo around the hallway as he half jumps, half falls, attention fixed on making sure he reaches the Dark Side’s area as quickly as possible. 

_**“I’M GOING TO FREAKING KILL HIM.”** _


	31. Lies weigh more than truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The door springs open, cracking under the weight of Anxiety, almost bending at the hinges, metal grinding and screeching as they ripped apart. He holds his head high as he steps through into the room, the shadows whispering and coiling around him, shimmering so it is impossible to really tell where he ends and they begin. It is a grand entrance, somewhat over the top and one worthy of the dramatic snake himself. Virgil is confident that Deceit will recognize it for what it is - Virgil is angry and he isn’t here to play games anymore.”
> 
> a.k.a.
> 
> Confrontations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year ago this date, I posted part one of this story. I thought I knew where it was going and I had naively thought I knew how many chapters it would be. I had no idea of the monster it would become both in word count and the feedback. This has very much been a labour of love for me and I am enjoying it still. Here's hoping it doesn't take another year to finish it...
> 
> The feedback from the last chapter has been insane and I am beyond humbled to read all your screams about Virgil finally learning the truth. Responses were fairly evenly split between ‘Mess him up!’ and ‘Stop him before he does something he regrets!’. I only hope I managed to do this confrontation justice and that you enjoy. 
> 
> A **CHAPTER WARNING:** for you all, for a start Deceit is in this chapter - obviously. There is anxiety attack elements, dissociation and physical violence. Please be safe. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from _What a Scene_ by **The Goo Goo Dolls**. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my soul, such as it is. I just wanna say... I’m still sorry guys. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Lies weigh more than truth

** **

He slams into the ground with unnecessary force, dropping into a one legged kneeling pose, one palm flat against the worn carpet, head bowed to stare at it. Somewhere during the fall his hood had risen, as if it was pulled it up out of choice, letting the weight settle him. Part of Virgil wants to rip it back down because he doesn’t want to settle, he doesn’t want to feel safe, secure or anything positive. He is riding all these negative feelings of rage and hurt as though they are the only thing left to him. They grant him a wild kind of power that Virgil isn’t ready to give up.

Virgil looks up, eyes narrowed, the anger still burning like a star in his mind. 

Slowly, he stands, the anxious side feeling the shadows cling to him, trailing over his skin and clothing. They trail off in great hanging folds, a black cape that rises up and around him, creeping over his hood and dulling most of the purple into a pale, barely there colour. Tiny flecks of purple try and shine against the shadows, Virgil watching them for a moment before calling more shadows up, letting them cover it back to a dull, unremarkable shade of purple, lets everything he is be covered by the night. 

Roman would probably have applauded his completely over the top and unnecessarily dramatic entrance if he had been around to see it - and if it had been for any other reason. Now, he can’t help but feel that if Roman had been here, it would have been to try and block his way, sword in hand. Not because he feels that Deceit is worth saving - or maybe he does, who can tell - but because he would have some pat line about this being ‘wrong’. Just as Patton had, when he had tried to insist that there could be ‘another way’. There couldn’t be another way. There was no other option but this, no matter the cost. 

Virgil doesn’t want to think about Roman. He doesn’t want to think about any that he has left behind because that might shake his resolve, might make him falter and he cannot afford to do that. They wouldn’t like what he is about to do, they wouldn’t approve. They would see it as a dark act, born of dark thoughts and committed by a dark, irredeemable side. Is it still a cold blooded, premeditated act if he is running on flames of pure hurt and rage? 

Not that Virgil himself is completely set on what he is going to do. He knows what he screamed as he sank down into the darkness, he knows what every nerve end of him is begging to do. To make Deceit pay, to make him hurt. To kill him? 

Does he _want_ to... kill Deceit? Someone who had hurt him beyond all repair, who had stood by and let him think those terrible wrong things without once admitting the truth? Someone who had encouraged him in his anger, who had constantly been suggesting new things he could say or do back? Deceit had wanted him to hate the Light Sides, had constantly been pushing him towards those thoughts and really he is beyond stupid to have never suspected that his so called friend was actually behind that terrible day. 

Someone who had tried to look out for him once upon a time. Who had patched him up countless times after countless bruising encounters. Not only with the fights Virgil had constantly managed to get into with the dark sides, the ones that had left him battered and bruised, all with the aim of protecting Thomas from their more extreme reactions. But also with the fights he had gotten into with the Light Sides, when they had probably meant well but still wanted to lead Thomas into dangerous waters. 

It was Deceit who had comforted him after a particularly nasty fight with Roman, Deceit who had distracted Logan when he wanted to run experiments without any proper care as to safety because the why had seemed the most important. He had kept pushing and pushing, so caught up in the scientist point of view, that he had never considered the negative outcomes it come have. Virgil had been too tired, too drained from the horror that was high school that day. He had come close to just collapsing and giving in at that point. Just finally letting them win. 

It had been Deceit that day who had found him, who had carried him to his bed, tucked him in. Deceit who had soothed his aching body and mind, who had taken over his duties until Virgil felt strong enough. If it hadn’t been for Deceit that day, Thomas could have lost his Anxiety completely because he had felt that close to giving up.

Even Patton had had his moments when he had wanted to do something like pet all the cats without caring about the fact Thomas was allergic. Virgil had hated standing up to him the most, but he had done so in order to keep Thomas protected. Deceit had taken care of him after those mentally bruising moments too, as if they had been friends, as if he had cared. 

That couldn't have all been games right? It couldn't always have been cold, calculating, with his eye always on the end goal - but then Virgil doesn't understand what Deceit had wanted to gain from all of this, why he had gone through with the deception in the first place and yet fought so hard to look after him at times. He doesn’t understand how they could be friends if it was built upon such pain. 

The conflicting confusion - not to mentioning the lingering thoughts of how disappointed Patton ironically would actually be if he went through with his original urge - rush around him as he looks around an area that has barely changed in the years since he has last been down here. Growing up, that had always been a comfort to Virgil. Things stayed the same no matter what down here, the carpet remained worn, the wallpaper was peeling in several spots from where it had come away and nobody had bothered to take the few moments effort to fix it. He had found safety in that illusion of permanence, in hiding away in this childhood home. 

It was a far cry from the home that the Light Sides lived in. That home was constantly changing, influenced by Thomas’ surroundings in a way that this place had never embraced, had never wanted to. They still lived in the first home that Thomas had lived in and looking at it now, Virgil couldn’t understand why they refused to let themselves go with the times, why they made themselves remain like this. They had never really grown up. Never had to face the facts that there was a reason why Thomas didn’t embrace them, that it took effort from both the side and the host. 

He is going to have to face Deceit any second and Virgil still doesn’t know what he wants, the shadows coiling tighter around him, as though sensing his distress, the way pain or pity wants to take control over anger and he can’t have that. He can’t grow weak at the last second. 

All he knows for sure is that he needs to make Deceit _pay_ for every moment of pain and abandonment that Virgil felt because of his cruel and unnecessarily mean trick. He swallows, hand clenching into a fist as he forces himself to stop thinking about the Light Sides or the past. He needs to stop delaying this, needs to stop being a _coward_ and man up. 

Just as Deceit used to snarl at him to do. Who would have thought that Virgil would have finally listened and learnt that lesson after so many years? 

Whispers follow him as he strides purposely down the corridor, tiny noises that creep and crawl in the base of his skull but flee the moment he turns his head to focus on them. They duck away from his gaze, averting their own to slink into dark corners in their own rooms. They don't want to risk meeting his gaze, they don't want him to turn his anger from Deceit and aim it in their direction instead. 

It makes him feel... powerful. To know that _they_ are hiding from him, that his appearance has scared them enough that they don’t want to risk messing with him. They don’t want to get his way because he is something new, something unexpected and dangerous. He is Anxiety without restraint, without any boundaries. He is the Anxiety that they always insisted they wanted, someone who wasn’t weak or held back by worries of what could happen if he finally let himself go, if he embraced everything he was. He was the Anxiety that could gather up all the worry, all the what if and direct that energy where he pleased. 

Ironically, he is Anxiety without terror, fear of what he is. 

And he makes them cower in their rooms now, the darker elements of Thomas’ mind are scared of what they helped create. Virgil wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them. They had laid their own links of the chains that now bound them all so tightly. They had helped make him, they had pushed and taunted and although Virgil knows he is the one who took the final step, they all helped lead him to the edge. You reap what you sow.

Pathetic little Anxiety, scaring them? It makes his lips curl up into what could have once been a smile but is now all jagged teeth and cruel thoughts. It gives him strength when he has need of it the most.

The tiny part of him that isn’t consumed by rage, humiliation or a need for vengeance cries at knowing they are scared of him because as much as he likes to be powerful, to be able to defend Thomas against them, he doesn't want it this way. Virgil never wanted to be feared. Listened to yes. Respected, perhaps in his wildest dreams. But never feared like this. 

It doesn’t matter what he wanted, because this is what it is. This is the world now and he is in front of Deceit’s door without even realising it. A blink and he is at his destination, Virgil feeling his whole body shake and tremble with all the repressed emotions that are burning through him and he is angry, he is so very angry. There is no time to think or focus on anything other than the rage which burns through him like a fever. He is completely lost in his emotions, at their mercy and Virgil lets them lead him as they will. Right now, what they want, is to make Deceit pay.

Virgil lifts a hand, shadows leaping from his body to slam against the black and yellow door that guards the entrance. Dimly, a small part of him feels almost surprised at the violent power he has the capacity to call forth, watching as they attacked the door again and gain. 

The door springs open, cracking under the weight of Anxiety, almost bending at the hinges, metal grinding and screeching as they ripped apart. He holds his head high as he steps through into the room, the shadows whispering and coiling around him, shimmering so it is impossible to really tell where he ends and they begin. It is a grand entrance, somewhat over the top and one worthy of the dramatic snake himself. Virgil is confident that Deceit will recognize it for what it is - Virgil is angry and he isn’t here to play games anymore.

Deceit’s room is empty. 

Virgil... hadn’t been expecting that somehow. 

He had realised that Deceit would know he was coming - the whole mind probably knew he was coming, Virgil hadn’t exactly been subtle about his rage as he hurtled through the mind intent only on reaching the area that the Dark Sides called home - but he wouldn’t have expected Deceit to try and hide from him. Perhaps he should have done, perhaps he should have realised that the coward would behave true to form. Deceit’s powers lay in working from a distance, in being the unseen hand. He was no good in direct sunlight, in contact that he couldn’t control. Like a magician using sleight of hand, Deceit worked best when people were distracted from him.

Hiding is probably a wise move on his part. It is also a very stupid one. Wise because it means that Virgil can’t make him pay as he so badly wants to, he can wriggle free of the consequences of his actions. For the moment at least, but Virgil isn’t going to just give up. There are only so many places he can hide after all, and the anxious side is confident he knows how to find most of them. 

And stupid in that Virgil is simply going to be that much more angry when he finally tracks him down. 

A noise has him turning, attention fixed on another door, slightly ajar. Another little creak sounds inside it, letting him know that someone or something is lurking in its walls. The door leads into an empty room but one that Virgil knows only too well. 

After all, once it had been his own. 

Just as he should have realised the liar would hide, he should have known that Deceit would try something like this, that he would attempt to throw Virgil off balance by picking such a room. If Virgil had his way, he would never had stepped foot in it again, it was the scene of far too many of his failures for him to feel comfortable here. So of course it was where Deceit would chose to set the stage for their confrontation. 

Virgil refuses to be bound by the past any longer. He has broken free of the false memory that Deceit had used to construct so much of Anxiety’s own personal mythology. He has escaped the shame, the guilt, the hurt at believing that his would be father figure didn’t love or want him. 

Facing a room, a door, is child's play compared to that, Virgil letting his hands lift once more, the shadows leaping from his skin to slam through the partly opened door, almost ripping it clean from its hinges in their haste to be free. 

The room greets him like an old friend, a soft whisper and crackle of air around his fingertips as he crosses the threshold. He is practically humming with anxiety to start with, the shadows made up of all the deepest, darkest fears of Thomas and his various sides. They know Virgil better than any side, better than Deceit himself. They know him better than Virgil probably does, the many voices of his shadows whispering in his ear. 

They sound like Patton one second, Roman the next. Logan’s fears curl around him like the rarest perfume, intoxicating the senses and it is a worry, how large the shadows are, how many fears roam through Thomas’ mind and his host is mixed in there too, each voice independent and unique. Fears of not enough, too much. Unheard, unloved, unnoticed. Spiders, the dark, what lurks at the bottom of the ocean, clowns. 

They press down on him and although the weight could be considered oppressive, it is also reassuring. His family is with him in some some way even as he lets his anger burn like a star. 

Remy is there too, a whisper in the back of his head, so soft it is barely audible. So, almost certainly, is Deceit and at any other time Virgil would try and focus on that voice, he would try and narrow down to his voice and only his voice. The chance to discover what exactly it is that Deceit is afraid of is something that should be so tempting, so delicious. Virgil has always been too afraid himself, to push open that door because of where it might lead. And now the path is almost in front of him and Virgil is more powerful than he has ever been. He should follow the thread but the room distracts him.

No, no the room. The room itself is mostly empty, sad, a shell of what it had once been. The carpet is worn thin and ripped up in places from where Virgil - no, from where _Anxiety_ had lost control, from where he had attacked it in order to stop himself from attacking Thomas. The curtains are grubby and ripped, as though they have never been washed, as if someone had used them for all manner of unspeakable things after he had finally moved out. All of those thoughts flash through his mind in the time it takes for him to blink once, before his whole being narrows its focus to one thing and one thing only, 

Because the only thing in the room - is him. 

Deceit is standing at the far side of the room, examining his nails casually, looking for all the world as if he is calm and in control of the situation. As if there is nothing even remotely alarming about Virgil crashing into the room with shadows for armour and eye shadow that threatens to turn his whole face inky black. 

“Well hello Virgil, this was a complete surprise I have to sa-” Deceit’s words are like a red cape to a bull, snapping that tiny thread of control that Virgil was still clinging to, the last piece of sanity that was holding him back.

“ _ **Why**_?” Virgil half howls the word out, crossing the distance between them in a flash. Hands find Deceit's shoulders, slamming him up against the wall and effortlessly pinning him in place, pushed upwards so that the other side has to balance slightly on the tip of his toes to remain grounded. It is effortless to pin him in place, the shadows granting him power that Virgil hadn’t realised he had. 

“Why... what? I'm afraid I have no clue what you could possibly be talking about Virgil.” Deceit actually has the nerve to smirk at him as he spins his usual lies, twisting and turning the moment on its head. For a second, Virgil almost forgets that he is the one who is meant to be in charge, that he has the power here. For a second he is in any other room, any other time where he is trying to stand up to Deceit, trying to question his plan or come up with an alternative and the other side is so effortlessly dismissing his attempts.

Deceit isn't afraid of him. Despite everything, despite the fear he can sense still rolling out behind him from the other Dark Sides, despite the whispers of voices he knows in his mind, despite the power the shadows give him, despite the fact that he _knows_ that somewhere among the cacophony of voices is the liars own, he still acts as though he isn’t afraid of this monster that he has helped bring to light. 

Virgil cannot stand that. The fact that Deceit refuses to be cowed by him is an ugly thought clawing and scratching in his mind, drowning out everything else, even the need to understand. All he can think in this moment is that the world has changed, the natural order of things has changed and that Deceit needs to embrace that. He needs to feel the fear like everyone else.

He snarls, face twisted beyond all recognition, Virgil feeling a bestial rage take over, hands curling ever tighter in the black and yellow fabric of Deceit’s clothing. He pushes up, sliding Deceit a few centimeters higher against the wall, so that the only thing keeping him upright is Virgil himself. Deceit flails a little in his grip, struggling slightly as his feet swing in the air, the first sign that he is not as calm and focused about this whole thing as he was acting.

It makes the beast that Virgil hopes - fears - he is all but purr, the pleasure that rushes through him at knowing that he has finally gotten the response he wants out of him. It is enough to quieten the worst of his voices, enough to let Virgil draw in a dragged breath of air, to push through the rage in order to put all his thoughts into some kind of order. There is so much he wants to say, so much he wants to know - so much he wants to do and most of that is black and bloody, are things that neither of them would recover from.

Of course, the most pressing thought is easy enough, it is the sun to his thoughts around which everything else revolves. 

“ _ **Why did you pretend to be Patton?**_ ”

His voice still echoes and crackles with its double timbre, vibrating around the room as he stares deep into Deceit’s mismatched eyes. The shadows creep across his body, flickering in and out of existence and as he stares, Virgil can see a few of them creep onto Deceit, can see them press against him. The other side struggles and flinches in their grip, fighting against this new outward manifestation of Virgil. There is nowhere for Deceit to move though, pushing away from the shadows only presses him harder into Virgil’s grip. 

After a couple of seconds of futile struggling, he seems to realise this, going completely still. Virgil can almost see his mind race, plotting planning, trying to work out how he was going to get out of this one. He is always planning something and that is on the very long list of things that he hates about the dark side still trapped in his hands. 

Deciet’s lips curl into what could be a smile. It is hard to tell when his collar is up to his chin and he looks slightly bloated, cheeks bulging. 

“Why do you think? I can barely even remember that day, maybe I thought it would shake some sense into you. Maybe I expected you to realise what had happened at the time. We were children Virgil, children do things.” 

Virgil barely notices the faint choking sounds, the way some words had hitched and caught on his breath, as though Deceit was struggling to maintain his composure. Virgil wants to shake a better answer out of him. He wants to shake and shake and _shake_ until all the bad feelings have spun away with the force of his motions. Somehow, his fingers curl impossibly tighter into Deceit’s clothing, another choked little whimper slipping free. 

It should please him. All other sights and noises of fear have pleased him, have fed the beast that roars with his face. Seeing Deceit in this state had been the goal, wanting him to pay had been his only motivation for any of this. 

Strange how in his moment of triumph, actually getting what he wants in the form of Deceit making a noise of pain only leaves him cold. 

His fingers spring open, releasing Deceit. The other side tumbles to the ground in an ungraceful heap, his head bowed as he simply half lies, half knees there at Virgil’s feet. It does nothing for him and Virgil cannot help but hate Deceit just that little bit more for not behaving how he should, for not giving what Virgil thinks he needs. 

It takes everything that Virgil is not to kick him right now. Something holds him back though, a faint thought, a memory of Thomas, of bullies surrounding a younger them, of Virgil screaming at Thomas to get up, to move. Only for one of the now faceless bullies to lash out, to kick him in the stomach and leave him more doubled up and lost for breath than before. All because Thomas couldn’t leave it alone, because he had tried to help a friend in need and suffered as a result thanks to bullies who delighted in finding a new target. 

Virgil isn’t a bully.

Deceit slowly tilts his head up to look at him. The other side is breathing heavily, his face still twisted into some semblance of a smirk as he opens his mouth yet again. It seems none of them know when to quit. 

“I mean really Virgil, upset after all these years. Tut, tut, you really should know better after all this time. How little you must think of your dear father figure, that you believed he had said something to hurt your delicate feelings to the degree that you held onto it all these years.” 

He is trying to pick a fight. He is succeeding too, the anger churning around in Virgil’s stomach until he physically feels ill. It crowds out everything else, even the moment of clarity that getting what he wants brings him. Virgil forgets about not being a bully. He forgets the feeling of cold, the doubt that had flared to life so briefly and thinks only of his rage again. 

Virgil bends down, fingers grabbing roughly at Deceit’s collar to pull him up on his feet. The air around them feels electrified, static shocks jumping from one to the other and then back again as the tension deepens. Virgil can almost feel his own eyeshadow deepen in turn, can feel more and more of himself get lost to the black with every passing second.

It is too much.

It has been too much for longer than he can even bare to think, and it has become too much again. There is so much weight pressing down on his shoulders, an endless crush of agony that Virgil has compressed into shadows, has twisted into rage and confusion. None of it is has actually escaped him though, as though his form is a black hole and all he can do is drag in more agony. He is built to suffer it seems, to be a living mausoleum to everyone's pain. Virgil takes a step backwards now that Deceit is standing on his own, something precise, measured about the motion. It isn’t a retreat and he can see the moment that Deceit realises that, the way the snake’s whole body freezes in place, suddenly wary and unsure. 

The shadows leap from his hands in response to Virgil’s subconscious thoughts, hissing angrily as they do, a high pitched screech which threatens to shatter his eardrums. Virgil might be screaming again. He isn’t sure and although he can feel his mouth drop open, he can’t hear any sound, can’t hear a thing over the noise the darkness makes as it breaks free of even the semblance of his control. 

They shift into claw like shades, curling into sharp points that reach across the gap, hissing and smoking as they go. It is all instrinctal, without word, without thought or conscious desire. All Virgil can do is stand there, hands outstretched, his whole body trembling as all the negative emotions burn through him, powering the shadows that use him for their vessel. 

In contrast, Deceit throws his hands up to shield his face against the blade like shapes that are flying through the air towards him. 

He cries out in pain as they touch his right hand, a sickening burning smell filling the air around them. The noise is something real and raw, a scream that cuts through every protective layer of ‘too much’ that has conspired to keep Virgil lost in rage and confusion. Suddenly, everything is so much more real than it was a moment ago. He is standing in front of Deceit and he is hurting him. No matter what Deceit has done to him, physical violence seems something extreme, something that Virgil cannot come back from. 

Especially when he is not wholly convinced the violence is of his own choice, his own doing. 

Virgil flinches and stumbles backwards as though he had been the one burnt by the shadows. They have returned to his hands now, coiling gently back around him. They pusle with the promise of power, a warming sensation that ties to be comforting. It is hard to feel reassured by that soft heat when he can see the damage it has caused seconds ago and could cause again. 

Deceit clutches his right hand close to his chest, cradling it protectively as though the belated action can somehow undo the damage the shadows have caused. Virgil wishes it was that easy, bile rising in his throat as he stares at him and he can still see the skin, the patch that is bubbled and raised, the bright angry red mark in the shape of two claws across the back of Deceit’s hand. 

Apologies bubble up in the back of his throat, pressing against his teeth and begging to be said for a whole two seconds before he swallows them back down, forcing them back into the pit of his stomach to join the sick and anxiety that swirls there. 

Is he sorry? Virgil had come here to hurt Deceit after all, had wanted to see him in pain and he got just that. It isn’t as soothing as he had hoped. Which means he has done something wrong or not done enough. Too much violence, not enough violence, the possibilities are direct contradictions of each other and Virgil doesn’t understand which is the right one. All he knows is that the anger is still there, along with the empty hole where his heart had once been. 

This hasn’t fixed anything. Then again, Deceit hasn’t explained anything either, his face twisted into an vicious snarl, as ugly and as damaged looking as his hand, unblemished fingers on his left hand twitching to cover his right.

“What the hell is your problem Virgil? We were _children_ or have you forgotten that? Are you planning to go after everyone else for every little mistake they made? In which case you should take a long hard look in the mirror at yourself and all the wonderful choices you made growing up. I suppose I should feel honoured, that you would hold my actions in such a treasured placed in your heart. It’s pathetic to still hold a childish game against me. You were prepared to forgive Patton dearest if it had been him, so why should the fact it might have been me make any difference?” 

A... _game_? 

Was that how Deceit had truly seen it? Just another step in their back and forth, another little game that had gotten out of hand? The idea sends him reeling, confusion overtaking anger as Virgil struggles to understand what it is that Deceit is actually saying. What he is implying by his words and the doubts that instantly surge up because of them. The thought that he might have been blowing this all out proportion, that it might have been some harmless prank that Virgil got wrong before he doesn’t understand social interaction is almost too much for Virgil to stomach. 

No, he is lying. He has to be lying. Deceit had to have known full well what he had been doing that day. His actions afterwards prove that, when he had been so kind, so considerate. When he had looked after Virgil and done who knew what while the anxious side was curled up in bed, too lost in his own misery to wonder about anything. 

If it had been a game, if they had ever been friends, then Deceit would have done something to make things better. That's what friends did after all. They didn’t just watch someone suffer, they didn’t smirk and take advantage of pain in order to drive a wedge between you and those who you wanted to be your friends. That wasn’t part of any game that Virgil knew. Then there was the other reeling accusation in his words, the other thing that made his mind spin. 

_Was_ he prepared to forgive if it had been Patton?

He had so badly wanted to hear Patton beg for his forgiveness, he had wanted the parental side to know what he had done so that he would try and make things better. And it hadn’t been for some sick sense of superiority, some desire to see the moral side brought low and made to realise what a terrible thing he had done. At least, not really. Some dark part of Virgil had wanted that, but it had never been the end goal. 

It was selfish, but Virgil had wanted Patton to know and be sorry for his own safe. He had wanted to be able to remove the stain that was thick and greasy across his soul, wanted to get it out in the open so that he didn’t have to think about it anymore. He had wanted to prove that he was just as good a son as Roman or Logan. Roman who he loved so much more than Virgil had ever realised. 

All this was making his head hurt, the shadows hissing and clicking impatiently, wanting to go back to violence, back to before when the only plan had been to make him pay and all sides of Virgil had agreed on that at least. 

It would be easy to blame Deceit for all of this. Easy, but wrong. 

Virgil did this to himself. He created this monster which wears his skin and smiles a smile that sits alien on his mouth, something ravenous, waiting for its chance to tear more chunks from his opponents skin, to rip him into pieces which would never sate the hunger but only make it worse. He knows this. Deceit knows it too, chin lifting as the scowl slips into a sneer, some of his confidence apparently returning the longer they stand here with the shadows contained. 

“You should have left well enough alone. Now look at you.” 

Look at him indeed. A shadow of an Anxiety, a beast lost in the depths. Down in the dirt with the worst of Thomas’ mind. What does it really say, when he is able to command fear from the scary things? That isn’t powerful, that isn’t freeing. It just means he is even worse than they all are combined. 

“None of that tells me why. Why did you do it!” Virgil needs to know why. Deflections or rage are not answer enough and Virgil cannot carry on without understanding this. It is the lodestar of his life in so many ways so to discover that it is rotten has ruined him. If Virgil is ever to become more than this darkness, more than his fear. 

“Careful with your questions Virgil.” 

For a moment Deceit looks deadly serious, that smug sneer slipping away from his face. He looks almost vulnerable standing there, still cradling his injured hand close to himself, head artfully angled to the side so that the human half is most clearly visible. A blink and it almost looks as though it is Thomas himself who is standing there, bruised and pained. No doubt that is just the sort of impression that Deceit wants to create and yet even knowing this, Virgil cannot help but fall for it a little. He cannot shake this image, burnt into his mind. Now he knows exactly what Thomas would look like staying at him in horror and pain.

“You might not like what you find.” 

Virgil feels a growl rise up in him, hands clenched into fists and despite all the power that is crackling over him he feels so helpless, so unable to get what he needs from this conversation. The air around them shizzles again with repressed tensions. It is the breath before a thunderstorm and all the promise of the deluge it could bring.

“Tell me!”

Shadows deepen and lengthen around them, the ones attached to him straining against his skin in a bid to break free and lash out again. Deceit’s eyes flicker around, taking in the shadows that dance and weave in the room, the ones that creep from the curtains, that shift along the door frame. They all twist and tug towards Deceit, all trying to reach him.

“It was to protect you!” 

The words are met with stunned silence, Deceit’s hand smacking across his own face in shock, effectively gagging him from saying anything else. Not that he could say anything else that could come close to matching what he has just blurted out. 

The truth.

Virgil has just heard the liar say... the truth. Or the truth as he believes it anyway and Virgil can tell that Deceit actually means what he says. He can feel it, in a way he has never been able to feel it before. Maybe it is the left over residue from the wound he has inflicted, the threat of causing more damage but whatever it is, something forced Deceit to be honest. 

This is the truth, raw, unfiltered. Brutal. Even if he hadn't felt it, Virgil would have known it was the truth from the fear that shines in Deceit’s eyes or the way he still can’t seem to peel his hand away from his mouth. 

Or at least it is the truth as far as Deceit sees it. Virgil can see beyond this moment however, all the way down to the nitty gritty. He can see more than just this, more than what Deceit wants to believe.

Virgil shakes his head, breathing ragged, each lungful of air a battle but one that Virgil is determined to keep winning. He cannot give in now, even if this answer is not the one he was looking for. It is at least an answer, it is something to work with and perhaps Virgil can build from this. At the very least he can tear down some of the walls Deceit has created, the fantasy that he had been doing Virgil a favour by being so cruel.

“You... you always acted as though you were doing me a favour by spending time with me, by talking to me. Sometimes tossing me things you didn’t want anymore, your leftover scraps and always trying to make me feel so pathetic and grateful for any attention you tossed my way but it wasn’t really like that, was it?” Virgil’s whole body is shaking now, almost vibrating on the spot, his legs bouncing up and down in their own irregular rhythm as he shouts at Deceit. 

“We were only friends Virgil!” Finally Deceit has pulled his hand free, hiding it behind his back as he powers himself with something that has to be a lie. The words sound empty when Deceit says them, devoid of the warmth they bring to him when Patton calls them friends, empty of that smile that wants to creep onto his lips whenever Logan uses a similar term. The two of them have been many things over the years but in this moment, Virgil doubts they were ever friends.

“Were we? You were lonely and that meant I had to be lonely too didn’t it. In your warped view, I couldn’t have any other friends because then I might realise I’m better than you because I want to change, I want to do what is right for Thomas even if it is hard, even if it means he doesn’t just do what I want. If I spent time with them I might leave you behind, just like I did in the end. You’re a liar and your claim to protect is a lie!” There are tears in his eyes, blurring his vision but for once Virgil doesn’t care that it makes him look weak.

Deceit has already seen the most pathetic and dark parts of him. What is a few more tears after everything they have been through? The angry drains from him with every spilled tear, and Virgil just feels... tired. He can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty or bad about the burn on Deceit’s hand, not right now at least. That is a problem for future Virgil, who has so many other things to worry about as well. 

“I have them now and you hate that, you hate that I have friends, that I have support, that I’m trying my best,” Virgil tells him, inwardly proud of the way his voice sounded steady. There was no echo which betrayed a loss of control or quiver which makes him weak. Deceit shakes his head, eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t kid yourself Anxiety, they aren’t your friends. They’ve never been your friends. You call me a liar but they are far worse. At least I am honest about my lies, I am exactly what I appear to be. They wrap themselves up in fancy words and cute little sayings, they make you think that they care. Newsflash Virgil, they care just as much as I do and when you fail them they will leave you in the dirt. They will cut the heart right out of you and you will have nobody to blame but yourself,” Deceit hisses, his words mingling together a little in Virgil’s mind and how dare he say that, how dare he claim that. 

“They aren’t like you! Don’t you dare say that, they are nothing like you! They won’t do that to me, they’ve seen me at my worse and they still care. For all my flaws they care about me and that isn’t a lie.” 

“Well, what about _your_ lies Virgil?” Deceit cries, shifting gears without any hesitation. He even takes half a step forward, his cape rustling slightly as he does. It sounds so loud in the room, as though the shadows are magnifying every sound along with the twin breaths that are rapid little gusts of air in and out. 

“What?” Virgil asks, his mind racing as furiously as his heart and what did Deceit mean? More than that, why was he listening to him? Why was he giving him the chance to twist this all around, to confuse him further? Virgil cannot help but dance to the tune, the instinct is woven too deeply into his psyche for him to ignore the bait no matter how much he might want to.

“Don't play the coy innocent with me Anxiety, you forget, I know all your little secrets. Have you told any of the others what you really do to them? To Thomas? Do they know about all the times you snuck into their rooms and played with their minds? Oh you act as though you are doing it to help them but you never once asked did you? You never once got their permission to root around in their minds doing who knows what.” 

“Don’t,” Virgil snapped, feeling his rage snap back into place as though it has never left. It hits him like a jolt of adrenaline, as if he has swallowed several cups of coffee in the same second. The headaches are a tender area, a soft spot and somehow, he had hoped that Deceit just wouldn’t think to bring them up. 

He had asked Remy. He had gotten Remy’s permission. Okay, that had only been after Remy had revealed he already knew and had laid out the terms but Virgil had still accepted the deal, he had known there could be times when he wouldn’t be able to help. He fully intended to honour Remy’s wishes... but Remy was the only one who knew about the headaches, the only one he had been honest with. Deceit was right about that at least, for all that it made Virgil sick to the stomach to think. 

He hadn’t gotten anyone’s permission, he hadn’t even told any of them and there had been chances, plenty of opportunities where he could have done just that. There had been the perfect chance to tell Thomas when Virgil had confessed a half truth about his name. It would have been so easy to admit everything, to explain how he had really helped that first night and every night he had needed to since. 

If he told them, they might make him stop. 

“Speaking of Thomas, of our beloved host,” Deceit starts, as though has reached into Virgil’s mind and is reading his thoughts. At this stage, Virgil wouldn’t put that past him. He wouldn’t put anything past Deceit who is spitting out every word as though they are venom, as if he really is a snake. “What is he feeling... right now? Have you checked on him lately?” 

Virgil blinks slowly, the words refusing to sink in at first. What does Thomas have to do with anything right now? What does Deceit mean? He reaches out. Part of him knows that he shouldn't, that this is all somehow a trap, a trick. Virgil knows he won't like what he finds. He reaches out regardless because of course, he has to. He has to know how Thomas is, he has to make sure that his host is safe because Virgil is nothing if he cannot keep Thomas safe. 

Thomas... is in agony.

Curled up in a pitch black room, buried under covers with his eyes screwed shut but tears of pain are still leaking from him. His head is on fire, torn apart by anxiety, by a new kind of migraine that is more than mere pain. The shadows are tormenting him too, in a way they never have before, shaking at his psyche, trying to bring him down. Thomas is falling apart from the inside out because of Virgil’s lose of control, because of the fear and pain he has let loose upon the mind. 

“You did this to him,” Deceit hisses, head rising up like a cobra stalking its prey, debating on the perfect moment to strike. “I warned you Anxiety, time and time again, that your attempts at helping him were only going to make things worse down the line. How quickly you forget your own past, how quickly you erase me from your story because it doesn’t fit the hero image you so desperately want to create.”

“Stop it,” Virgil mutters, his voice soft and barely there. It is hardly surprising that Deceit ignores him, the snake’s voice rising as he warms to his theme.

“I was the one that looked after you when you were in so much pain because of your martyr like tendencies. Don't you dare forget that I was the one who distracted the others from you on those days. I kept you safe. You _need_ me Anxiety, you always have. You always will because you're weak without me. You’re nothing without me and soon they will see you for what you truly are. You won't come crawling back to me at all.” 

Virgil shakes his head as though he could somehow shake the words free. Lies and truths are all bunched up on top of each other now and Virgil cannot tell where one starts and the other ends. He is more than Deceit, more than the nothingness that the other side wants to push him into.

Beyond that - Virgil isn't sure.

“Virgil!” His name echoes down the corridor, shaking him from his daze, dark eyes darting to the damaged door as though he could see past it and around the corridor to the owner of that voice. His already pale skin somehow manages to grow a few shades whiter at that oh so familiar tone. 

Roman? Roman was... here? How could Roman be here? This was a trick, it had to be. Another manipulation of Deceit’s, to try and distract him from the fact Thomas was hurting, another way to try and make him forget about his crusade. It was just another thing to try and beat down Virgil. It has to be. 

After all, it was next to impossible for the sides to go to each others areas. Only Virgil had really been able to slide from one side to the other without any pain. Deceit had come close but even he had been on the boundary line when he had disguised himself as Patton. It takes practise to be able to cross over safely and for such a bright side like Roman to come down here... it would have hurt Roman. It would hurt Thomas too, to have his Creativity hidden away like this.

Roman can’t be here. He needs Roman to _not_ be _here_.

The giggle which slips free from Deceit’s lips is chilling. Devoid of any real humor and so cold as though it might freeze the very blood in his veins if it came into physical contact with it, no matter how impossible such a thing might be. Virgil feels as though he is being plunged into ice, a breathtaking cold that steals his breath and any self righteous fire fury. 

“And now you force your so called friends down here to try and rescue you. Of course your precious Prince would come, how could he resist trying to save a damsel in distress, even if it is only you.”

Deceit pauses, every action artful, deliberate. He is the ringmaster once more, and the whole world is spinning and dancing to his tune. All Virgil can do is watch the performance in muted horror. His shadows are stretched taut about his skin, as though they might break at any moment and rip him open in the process. His eyes are wide, and distantly he wonders if he is even able to blink, able to breathe, his breath caught in his throat as he waits for the words.

Virgil knows what Deceit will say in style if not in substance. He knows what horrors await Roman down here in the deepest, darkest corners of Thomas’ mind. Roman has no idea what he has done coming down here, no clue what it could cost him.

In this case, Virgil is pretty sure ignorance really is bliss. Deceit smiles, the expression as cold as his giggle, both eyes fixed on Virgil, pinning him in place as he finally speaks, each word measured and deliberate. 

“Only... you know what this place will do to him. What _they_ will do to him, the damage they will cause to your so called friend. Do you think they will still love you once they see what happens to the Prince? Or will they fear you as the monster you really are?”


End file.
